The Prisoner
by Drusillas Little Boot
Summary: Then they'd handed me over to Bellatrix Lestrange, who'd then given me to Snape. I'd thought it a blessing at the time. I thought we were almost friends everything you ever said to me was a lie. ...What if the Dark Lord won? HGSS, not HBP compliant.
1. Chapter 1

My steps echo through the vast stone corridors. Charmed serpent's heads unfurl their tongues in my direction as I pass, their beady, glassy eyes swirling within carved sockets. I shudder, turn my face to the ground to stare at the dusty marble floor.

I've traipsed through this hallway dozens of times. My sensible Mary-Janes, my school shoes, have left a neat track in the gray dust; the house-elves at this manor are truly abysmal. Or rather, house-elf, singular. I've never asked where the others went; he hasn't offered any explanation. I seriously doubt one of the family took up knitting and freed them with hand-made socks.

"Dirty Mudblood," a portrait hisses as I pass, then hurries out of the frame.

It echoes. Mudblood, Mudblood, over and over again.

There's nothing to do. Nobody to talk to. I'm completely, totally alone.

I glance down at my watch.

08/04/98

Three months. More than three months. I haven't seen any living creature except the hateful house-elf, Loki, in ages, and even twelve weeks ago when I saw him last, Snape was just a dark-robed silhouette that peered into my door in the middle of the night.

Twelve weeks ago I still had enough spirit to laugh about it; imagining buttoned-up Snape as the pervy Peeping Tom of Hogwarts.

Loki mentioned that he's been back at the Manor house in the past week, but I haven't seen him. It surprises me how much I wish I had, if only for a minute.

I can predict his behaviour, to some degree; when he returns, it's usually to mix up some potions. As he finishes them, he arranges them with obsessive precision in lines on the hall table. It's conveniently set next to the foyer's grand marble fireplace. He can just floo out with them when he's done brewing - that's not to imply, though, that he leaves floo powder about so I can use the network. I have to stay where I'm told; and since Snape doesn't trust me to obey, he leaves the doors warded.

He's slipped up this time, though; he's lowered the wards so he can creep about unhindered, and even at the end of the hall I can see the potions set along the edge of the ancient oak table.

I slide out of my shoes and gently set them aside. The fat square heels make too much noise; it sounds like a horse clopping over the rich, marbled floor tiles. In my stockings I pad to the table, pressing myself against the wall on the off-chance that Snape is working in the lab.

The first phial steams beneath the cork with what looks like quicksilver. Contraceptive, I think humourlessly, and move on to the next. A buttery, beautiful, opaque concoction, but useless to me - it's just Veritaserum. The last, though, piques my interest. Pale pink, iridescent, with a candy-coloured clarity; this one might have potential. I can think of two potions that look that way - a cough suppressant, and a numbing draught. Only scent can cement it. I very gently wriggle the cork off the top of one of the small bottles and let the steam waft toward my face. It's deceptively sweet-smelling, like maraschino cherry syrup. Definitely useful.

I palm a bottle, more than enough for my purposes, scurry back to where I'd left my shoes, and softly shut the door behind me.

I hope Snape forgives me for stealing.

---

The potion is almost too sweet to drink. Its sticky viscosity lodges in my throat, leaving the taste of cherry with a harsh undercurrent like varnish remover permanently on my breath. My fingers begin to tingle within seconds, and a dull smile appears on my lips.

Soon.

A dose for a girl my size is usually two or three drops. Not two or three tablespoonfuls. Save the racing heart, the feeling isn't unpleasant. My skin is clammy, and I can't think, but I feel like I'm floating three feet off the ground. Colours are sharply bright; green jacquard against gray window glass; white linens against dark wood; my red and gold school tie hung over the door, fluttering in the draughty room.

Soon.

I'll be with my parents, my sister, my boyfriend, my best friend. I wasn't raised to be devoutly Christian, but I firmly believe, now more than ever, that there must be something beyond this.

Very soon now.

My body is shaking, I'm cold, and the racing, panicked thudding in my chest has slowed to a near stop. I'm frightened, but not as frightened as I thought I'd be. Mostly, I wish I had someone with me. My mind seems strangely disconnected from my body.

_Pop_!

The sound barely registers in my mind, but I hear it.

"Dirty mudblood thief, the master asks for his potion back."

It's Loki. I have no energy, and think it best not to answer. I have, after all, left the room immaculate, and have even chosen to expire atop the neatly-made bed sheets, as to not rumple them. He has no reason to complain.

"Mudblood?" he asks, "Muuuddd-bloood, what's wrong with you? You didn't be drinking Master's potion? Bad Mudblood! Bad, bad!"

"Shh," I manage to whisper, "Be a good house-elf, don't tell..."

He's already gone.

Damn.

It's my last thought before I can no longer fight off the exhaustion that overwhelms my mind.

---

Snape was always around. Every conversation at No. 12, every stolen kiss between Harry and Ginny, Ron and myself, Remus and Nymphadora, McGonagall and Dumbledore, every discussion.

He was always watching.

He particularly hated Ron, likely because there was nobody more clumsy or more rude than him in Order headquarters at that time. Poor Ron was Snape's new Neville; an imperfect child to pick on. Too bad Ron was never weak enough to cry. He'd just shrug, mutter something like 'bastard,' or 'arse,' and leave Snape and I to work on the potions needed by the Order of the Phoenix.

Dumbledore had made me Snape's assistant in the makeshift potions lab within what had once been the guest latrine of the most Noble House of Black. Shades of Moaning Myrtle and the Polyjuice incident, I thought with a laugh.

It wasn't too bad once we'd transfigured everything to his specifications. He was so anal about certain things - the counters needed to be at precisely waist height; the ingredients needed to be arranged by name, oldest ingredients at the front of the shelf, date written in black ink on the bottom left-hand corner of the label, all capital letters. Cauldrons were to be stacked first by metal type, then by volume capacity, lip down and legs up.

I asked him a lot of questions; in the first two weeks he gave me curt one-word answers. I didn't expect much more. In fact, I was just grateful that he didn't tell me to shut up and throw a couple of references to my frizzy hair in my direction.

It was after I got a bout of flu that his frosty demeanour melted, just slightly. The entire Order was there for the weekend, but after vomiting on Ron's shoes, most everyone decided to stay away from me. Harry had brought me a couple of comforting muggle objects - a hot water bottle, a radio with a set of headphones, and a bottle of Schweppes ginger ale. My favourite sweater wasn't enough to keep me warm, and Molly and Harry had loaded me down with half a dozen knitted blankets, like a nest to curl into. Harry'd even convinced Molly to cook me up some chicken soup until the potions ingredients shops opened and Professor Snape could brew me up a proper cure.

My poor Harry. There were so many times he struck me as an old man trapped within a soft, too-young body.

I loved him so much.

Snape was kind enough to brew me a potion to dull the symptoms, probably because he was afraid I might use his cloak as a sick bag. He woke me up - I'd fallen asleep on a chair - by shaking my wrist.

"Miss Granger."

"Hmm? Professor," I gulped back bile. "I'm afraid I can't help you in the lab today."

"Don't be foolish, child," he replied acidly. "Why in God's name do you have threads stuck in your ears? Is this some sort of Muggle quack medicine, like that bag of water flopping around on your stomach like a dying flounder?"

I had to laugh at that. It made it all the funnier that my brain felt floaty and his cloak seemed to be shifting back and forth slowly before my eyes, like a bat rearranging its wings before beating off into the sky.

"No, it's music," I croaked through my sore throat. "Lean down for a moment?"

He did so, tentatively, as if I was about to hit him with a tazer rather than press a tiny speaker into his ear. Christ, I wouldn't have even exposed him to the wonders of the walkman were I not high with fever, but people do strange things when they're not in their right mind.

He leapt back when I pushed the headphone against his ear, then relaxed.

"Gaetano Donizetti... the Lucia di Lammermoor libretto." He nodded curtly. "You have more complex tastes in music than I anticipated, Miss Granger."

I laughed until my stomach lurched and I had to swallow back acid. When I'd played the music for Ron and Harry, they'd screwed up their faces and spat, "Opera, ew!" and "Why don't you just listen to something decent on the WWN?"

"I'm surprised, Professor, that you even know what muggle Opera is," I yawned widely. "I like Wagner's Nibelungenleid better, even though Siegfried singing to his sword was a bit much."

He nodded slowly and stirred an entire bottle of clear potion into my glass of ginger ale.

"Miss Granger." I closed my eyes and ignored him. "Miss Granger, listen to me."

"Hmm, yes, Sir, I'm listening," I replied sleepily.

"Drink this whenever you feel a bout of nausea," he ordered. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

"You're welcome, Miss Granger." He paused. "Sweet dreams."

From that day on he let me listen to my Muggle radio in the lab, as long as he wasn't using a knife.

He still didn't talk much.

---

I open my eyes, just a crack. It's bright - that's not right, I must be dead. The small corner room has never been bright.

"Mum?" I croak, squeezing my eyes shut.

No, I can't be dead. I can still feel my heartbeat, and my legs tingle painfully. Purgatory? I groan and roll over. My face settles into a soft pillow. I snap my eyes open, and realize that I'm still in the room at the mansion, still lying on the coverlet, and at the end of the bed, Snape sits staring at me.

"Stupid girl."

Not purgatory. Hell.

Damnation.

I look over at the house-elf. It grins smugly at me from its perch on a nearby set of fire-irons, then sticks its tongue out at me. I sigh, pull myself up and fold my hands around my chin, my eyes glued to the floor.

"That wasn't a cough suppressant, Granger," Snape seethes.

"I know that!" I reply indignantly.

Damn. I could've simply pretended I'd made a mix-up, but because of my arrogance I've just revealed that I purposely poisoned myself. He raises an eyebrow in my direction, and Loki giggles.

"See, Master? Loki tells you so! Thief! Thief!" he crows. "Punish the thief, Master!"

"Silence," Professor Snape hisses.

His tone cuts through my sleepy mind like a knife, and I involuntarily cringe and pull my knees to my chest. I wonder if he will punish me; he certainly can't assign detention anymore, or take away house-points. Up until now he's been careful to stay as far away as possible from me, and I doubt it's in his nature to think up creative forms of discipline.

I doubt he'd inflict anything horrible on me, but there's always the chance...

I shiver. Maybe he's the one who's been ordering the house-elf to treat me like a prisoner.

Loki dances on the handle on a pair of tongs, his hankie-frock swaying along with his hips.

"So, Miss Granger." Snape stands. "You decided to medicate yourself with numbing potion."

He's still in his Death Eater robes, heavy, black velvet with intertwined silver snakes along the edges. Black leather gloves fit snugly over his long fingers, and his mask has been tossed onto a nearby table. At Hogwarts he was intimidating; here he is terrifying.

"What is the maximum daily dose of a standard numbing potion, Miss Granger?"

I swallow audibly.

"Five drops," I reply hoarsely.

My voice is rusty from disuse.

"And you drank an entire bottle. Brilliant." He glares at me. "Are you aware how difficult it is to reverse an overdose of numbing potion?"

I shake my head. I've disappointed him, but I'm now more worried about how he plans to take out his wrath on me. He hasn't quite realized how much easier his life would've been if he'd let me go through with it.

I'd thought it all out; he wouldn't have the obligation to keep me, he'd have an adequate excuse to give Voldemort as to why I'd died, and I would be released from this gilt-lined Bastille.

"Why did you bother?" I sigh quietly. "You've just caused yourself more trouble."

My teeth chatter; gooseflesh prickles my arms. Instead of meeting Professor Snape's gaze, I examine my hands. They're anaemic gray and my silver watch band hangs loosely around my wrist. Have I lost that much weight? I suppose so; the sharp lines of my hipbones jut out along the edge of my belt.

"Loki, bring Miss Granger something to drink," Snape orders.

Loki sticks out his bottom lip. "Loki isn't bringing Missy Mudblood any tea. Dirty mudbloods need to learn their places."

Professor Snape looks at me, as if waiting for a response. Instead, I pull the blanket up tighter around my chin. From experience, I know that it's best just to agree with Loki; he has a way of forgetting about you, or worse, when he is angered.

"I am your master," Snape replies icily, "And you will do as I say."

Loki pouts. "Oh-kay. Fine. Loki goes and gets tea. Loki is a good house-elf..."

"Silently!" Snape barks.

_Pop_.

He disappears, leaving the Professor and I alone together in the room. Neither of us speaks; I'm afraid to, and I'm fairly certain he thinks lecturing to me is a waste of time. He just watches, those unnaturally black eyes aware of each small movement. I try to stay perfectly still.

My watch beeps; seven a.m., my wake-up time. Hogwarts may have burnt to the ground and there's no Ancient Runes to go to, not even the guarantee of a regular breakfast, but I can still keep to my regular schedule - up at seven a.m., to sleep at midnight.

The soft sound breaks the silence, and finally, Professor Snape finds something to say to me.

"So I leave for a couple of weeks and..."

"Twelve."

He sneers at me for interrupting, "Pardon me?"

I lick my lips. "It's been twelve weeks, Sir, since you were here last."

He looks down at me, and I catch a hint of surprise on his normally expressionless face.

"I didn't realize," he mutters, "It was that long..."

"It's difficult to tell, I suppose, when it's perpetually nighttime." I glance at the window. "I take it... things are going badly."

He raises an eyebrow. "That depends on whose side you're on."

"I guessed, you know, that everyone in the Order had died..."

"I didn't say that, Miss Granger." He glares at me. "Let me guess, you were trying to starve yourself, and the numbing potion happened to be more convenient."

I glanced around suspiciously. "No, no, I could've thought of something better than that... it's," I drop my voice to a whisper, "Your house-elf. He's... not like most. He doesn't do what he's told."

Loki suddenly reappears, precariously balancing a tray heavy with a porcelain tea service, complete with cut lemons, sugar cubes, milk, cream and biscuits. He's never brought all that paraphernalia for me before.

"How does Missy Mudblood take her tea?" Loki sniffs. "Lots of lemon, no sugars?"

"Half a milk."

Loki smirks, dribbles the milk in, then pushes the teacup toward me. Professor Snape reaches out before I have a chance, snatches up the cup, and brings it to his lips. Loki's smirk vanishes; his eyes widen, and he runs up and begins tugging on Professor Snape's pant leg.

"No, no, Sir, a separate cup for Master!" Loki shrieks.

Snape's lip curls knowingly. I can't help but wonder how Slytherins instinctively distrust everyone, including house-elves. He sniffs the cup, takes a sip, swirls it around in his mouth, then spits it back into the cup. With that, he purposefully holds out the teacup and pours the milky contents out onto the dark carpeting. I let out a whimper.

"I'll have to clean it up," I murmur.

He narrows his eyes at me, and doesn't deign to respond. His eyes alight on the house-elf, and I recognize the glitter in his eyes, the same malicious expression he got when he tormented Neville in class.

I almost pity Loki. Almost.

"You, my repugnant excuse for a house-elf, will clean that up immediately. If I catch you slipping emetics into anyone's food or drink, you will be put out with only a sock."

His eyes widened. "But Mistress Aurelia..."

"I am your master, am I not?"

"Yes, Sir, 'course." Loki nods obediently. "Forgive Loki, please, Sir. No socks..."

"You're dismissed," he snaps, "And get the place cleaned up, it's filthy."

This is the Professor Snape I know; bossy, rude, curt. It's almost relieving to have something so familiar to hold onto.

"Don't look so pleased, Miss Granger," he snaps, "You're in no state to discuss anything this morning, however, I will expect a full explanation for your juvenile behaviour in the evening."

"Yes, Sir."

He plunks down a bottle on the table next to me. A sedative. I frown at it; I don't need it, I'm certainly not going to try and kill myself tonight.

Snape, however, doesn't look like he's willing to put up with an argument, and after almost five minutes of him being nearly-civil, I don't press my luck. He stands in the doorway until I drink the potion, crawl deep under the covers, and settle into a fitful sleep.

---


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks to Evie Hawks for pointing out how to allow anonymous reviews.  
Thank you to everyone who reviewed - feel free to drop suggestions, improvements, or questions.

---

I sauntered into the potions lab and set my glass on the bench, singing an off-key rendition of Auld Lang Syne. Professor Snape glanced in my direction before turning back to his cauldron. It was New Years, the school was celebrating, and I felt quite cheerful, as three members of the opposite sex had already commented on my shimmery dress and my dancing skill (made even more enthusiastic by the addition of a number of Singapore Slings).

Only Snape was missing from the fete.

We never spoke much. Sometimes I hummed along with my radio when we worked together. I could tell that he found it amusing, though his frosty expression never really changed. It was just a subtle shift of his eyebrows, one that I'd just started to pick up on in the month I'd worked with him nearly non-stop.

"Are you just going to serenade me all day, or are you here for a reason?"

"And here I thought you might like a little song and dance to cheer you up." I grinned, feeling cheeky. "I actually just came down here to ask why you aren't at the New Year celebration."

He sneered in response.

"I don't go to parties, Miss Granger."

"Will you lighten up? Lucius Malfoy's just been thrown in Azkaban for a second time, Rodolphus Lestrange is dead, and our dear Minister of Magic has finally sent out Aurors to track down Voldemort."

"Do not speak his name!" Professor Snape paused. "Forgive me if I do not revel in the downfall of those I once considered friends."

He continued methodically stirring, his face a cold mask. I honestly had never thought about what it must be like - I knew he had once believed in dark magic enough to take the Mark, but I'd forgotten just what changing sides entailed. It meant betraying your friends and family, and everyone knew he had few friends in the Order to make up for it. I tiptoed to his side and gently placed my hand on his arm. I would regret being so collegial in the morning, I was sure, but liquid courage still ran through my veins.

"What about friends here?" I asked.

He glanced back at me, a flicker of sadness crossing his face before he returned to his usual sour countenance and moved away from my grip.

"Forgive me if I do not share your penchant for _ holiday cheer _ , but I'm afraid that any who consider me 'a friend' are long dead."

"You're wrong," I replied, feeling braver after four rather strong drinks.

I licked my lips, tried to steady myself against the potions bench. He paused, ladle held inches above the potion, as if he'd been petrified, and that stone-cold expression seemed to soften just a bit.

"Miss Granger, return to your friends," he said. "Enjoy your youth before the final battle. Don't waste your... my time."

I sighed deeply. He was right, and I shouldn't have bothered him, but for some reason after my bout of illness at Order headquarters, I'd formed a strange affection for the cranky professor.

"I hope, at the final battle, that I have even a fraction of your bravery." My eyes widened, and I nodded. "You know you're a hero, don't you?"

His eyebrow arched just a tad, and he seemed to stare right through me. He stepped backward from the counter, stepped toward me, then changed his mind and turned back to his cauldron.

"Go back to the party and leave me in peace," he muttered tiredly.

"All right. I'm sorry I bothered you," I replied, lifting the dregs of my cocktail to my lips. "Happy New Year, Sir."

Though I shut the door quickly behind me, I caught his very quiet reply.

"Happy New Year, Miss Granger."

And, though he said he had no patience for parties, he was up and skulking about when two a.m. rolled along and the half-drunk revelers dragged themselves back to bed. He scared Ron and I out of the window seat we'd found to snog within. After shooing Ron away, Professor Snape gave me a long lecture on propriety which I promptly forgot through my alcohol haze, and after glaring a storm at me, led me back to the Head Girl's room portrait hole (he seemed rather put off by my password, 'root canal'), so I could gracelessly pass out on my bed.

Happy New Year indeed.

---

Loki leads me through winding corridors where, just the day before, there were impossibly complex wards to bar my way. He says nothing; I don't really expect him to.

We pass by Professor Snape's potions lab, the scene of my theft two days earlier. I have no idea what's beyond this point, and as we step through, the corridor becomes progressively less Slytherin and progressively more comfortable. Chairs upholstered in blue velvet sit against one wall. The carvings, while still rife with serpents, now portray the creatures coiled around roses and ivy.

The portraits, thankfully, are covered in white sheets, and say nothing but, "Who's there? Severus, is that you?" as I pass them.

"Where are we going?" I ask.

Loki doesn't answer, so I stay quiet. At the very end of a winding hallway, he stops in front of a large black door, looks up at me with a smirk, and disapparates. I just hope he hasn't left me to try and make my way back to my room; these corridors are like a maze.

I knock on the door sharply, and I hear Professor Snape's familiar voice call to me from inside.

"Come in, Miss Granger."

He's sitting there with a cup of black tea and a stout, old-fashioned English breakfast, fried eggs and fried bacon and fried button mushrooms, his neck craned over the plate to look over a heavy leather book that's seen too many reparo charms.

"Sit."

I sit. The small office seems familiar to me somehow, and after a minute I realize that it's a copy of his dungeon office at Hogwarts. He's charmed the small windows to look like they're under the lake, colouring the sunlight pale green, as if shining through a wine bottle. The desk is gargantuan, carved from black wood. The papers, quills and books scattered across it are the only messy area in the entire room. There's also an almost-empty bottle of liquor sitting on the corner.

The reason I didn't recognize it immediately was because, back at Hogwarts, the shelves lining the walls were stacked with jars of pickled aphibians and desiccated insects; here, there are books on every subject imaginable, from glossy-covered muggle novels to ancient magic books with old-fashioned lettering on the spine.

He stares at me with that flat gaze that reflects nothing of what he's thinking. I wonder absently if this is how he managed to survive as a spy over the past twenty-odd years. After an uncomfortable five-minute silence, I finally speak up.

"Have you decided what you're going to do for punishment?" I ask meekly.

He raises one black eyebrow, "After your suicide attempt last night, I'm afraid any punishment I could conceive would prove anticlimactic." He looks pointedly at me. "Though I have always loathed teenage histrionics, I must admit, I am curious as to why, exactly."

"It was not just teenaged histrionics," I reply, my voice sounding rushed. "Or maybe it was, I'm still not sure... that house-elf, forgetting about feeding me, and when I annoyed it, it was always slipping things into my meals. Then my wand went missing, I had nothing to read, and I couldn't go anywhere, and I didn't know what was happening, and nobody to talk to... I was so terribly lonely. I wondered if I was starting to go mad..."

I flush hotly, knowing that a suicidal woman is usually considered quite mad, and Snape won't hesitate to point it out. I wait in uncomfortable silence; he's settled back into that glassy stare, and I wonder if there's not something wrong with him.

My stomach grumbles, and that breaks the silence.

"Haven't you eaten?"

"No."

His lip curls. What have I done to irritate him this time?

Lucky for me it's not my grumbling stomach that's annoyed him. He summons Loki again, berates him for five straight minutes for not feeding me, and a few minutes later, there's a stack of brown toast and black tea, both clotted thick with honey, set before me. I place the plate in my lap rather than risk spreading crumbs over his desk.

"Eat." His mouth forms a hard line. "You look like a skeleton, it's disgusting."

I might've flinched at that once, but now I don't. Instead, I chew slowly and methodically through a slice. With just one piece, my stomach feels stretched and bloated. When I push away the plate, Snape nods and taps the end of his quill against his chin.

I ask the question I've been dying to ask, just confirmation of what I assume - he's a professor, he wouldn't forcibly keep me here.

Would he?

"I can't stand it here, Professor," I whisper softly, "Can I leave?"

He looks straight at me. His expression flickers with rage, only to be replaced by the faintest smirk flitting at the corners of his mouth.

"No."

"Why? Why not? You can't just force me to stay here." I feel a thread of anger, disbelief, the only thing I've felt except sadness for weeks.

"You're wrong," he says. "I can and I will."

"What are you now, my jailer?" I snap.

He stares at me, black eyes pinning me down like a hawk's upon a sparrow.

"Do you even understand what you are? Do you have any _ idea _ , Miss Granger?"

I stare at him, half-comprehending, half-in-denial, waiting his inevitable enviscerization. He smirks widely now.

"I'll tell you, since for the first time in your life it appears you're left speechless." He waits a moment, for effect. "You are a Mudblood. You are my property, an object, like this book, or desk, or bottle of brandy, to use as I please. The Dark Lord gave you to me, just as he gave me this house and these robes, for my loyal service."

"Don't be silly." I tuck my hair behind my ear, a nervous habit. "You're not really one of Voldemort..."

"Do not speak his name, you foolish girl!"

"He-Who-Should-Not-Be-Named, then. You're not really one of his servants, you spy for the Order, even I know that."

A smile, cruel and hard and mocking, dances on his face. He steeples his fingers like some comic book villain. The arms of his robes droop to his elbows, and I can see the Dark Mark burning blackly against his ivory skin. He no longer moves to cover it as he did when I was in school.

"Really now, Miss Granger. You _ know _ it. You _ know _ everything, don't you? You're a moronic little know-it-all who knows _ nothing _ ." His tone is icy. "You're a fool. Do you know why I'm only after Bellatrix and Lucius in the inner circle? Do you have any idea, my little Mudblood?"

My stomach flips. This is not the acid-witted, socially-inept but basically decent professor I thought I'd come to know during my eight-month tenure as Potions assistant. His voice is laced with a vitriol I've never heard from anyone before, not even from Lucius Malfoy.

I recognize the emotion. Pure, unadulterated hatred. How did he manage to conceal it earlier?

"I'll tell you how I gained my coveted position, so you will never even consider bothering me with your childish dramatics again. Do you remember that final battle where you were captured by Crabbe and Goyle?"

How could I forget two overweight morons trying to capture me as I collected holly leaves for a detention _ Snape himself _ had assigned? They'd managed to eventually subdue me, but not until I'd given one a broken nose and black eye, and the other had all his reproductive organs severed with a rather obscure hex I'd picked up when I visited the library at Beauxbatons.

They hadn't hit me, hadn't kicked me. I still don't know why; eventually one managed to petrify me, and sailed me past the other girls.. and boys... that were getting beaten and raped. Then they'd handed me over to Bellatrix Lestrange, who'd then given me to Snape.

I'd thought it a blessing at the time. I thought we were almost friends.

"While you were castrating Mister Crabbe, I was lowering the wards to Albus Dumbledore's office and allowing in half a dozen Death Eaters." He gave me a bitter half-smile. "Once I convinced Albus to let us through, it was an easy enough matter to administer the killing curse. Of course, the Dark Lord required proof of his death, so it was up to me to bring his head to my master. My true master, you _ know _ ."

I feel nauseated. My hand flutters to my clutching stomach.

"You're a traitor," I whisper.

He continues to smirk at me.

"So everything you ever said to me was a lie."

It's a comment, not a question, and he doesn't deny it, just stares, smirks. I'm an idiot.

"And for it," Snape eventually adds, "The Dark Lord promoted me within his ranks, and rewarded me handsomely by offering me the property once owned by my ancestors, and gifting me with a highly-sought-after Mudblood whore." He plays with the quill delicately. "You know, Lucius was quite interested in you. Lucky for me Draco insisted on that Weasley imbecile instead."

I'm frozen to the spot, my mind is numb, taking in what he's saying. My mind seems to be stuck on the image of Snape dispensing with Hogwarts' beloved Headmaster taking his head back to Voldemort like a knickknack.

The war is over. We lost. Snape's a traitor. We lost the war because of him, because fools like me trusted him. His face is locked in that glassy stare, watching me silently as I realize what he's just admitted to.

"Go," he snaps, "Get back to your room. You will leave it when I say so."

I wouldn't dare argue with him now, wouldn't dare say anything. He's a murderer. He used me, used the whole Order, and now... I don't even want to think what he plans to do with me.

Somehow I maintain enough dignity to walk with my head high and shut his office door behind me. Once it's closed, I bolt for my room, somehow finding my way, and knowing that I won't be able to hold down my breakfast for much longer. After retching the remains of my supper in the toilet, I drink glass after glass of water, until my stomach feels ready to burst with it. I begin to pace, repeating mindless information to myself to keep other thoughts at bay. The twenty five properties of dried rowan. Subspecies of pixie found in Britain and Ireland.

I don't know how long I do this for, but eventually my mind goes blank, I slide down the wall in the corner of the room, and fall into a dark-dreamed sleep.

---

When I wake, I'm in bed under the blankets, my shoes removed and neatly set beneath the night table, the clip from my hair removed and set aside. There's a tray of soup and bread on the table under a warming charm. I flinch - chicken soup - and there's chocolate with it as well, something I would've treasured like platinum a week ago. I don't touch it, a passive gesture of defiance.

I stand and reach for the door handle. It's firmly warded, and when I examine it only to be rewarded by a sharp jolt, I realize the wards are dark magic. The threads of beads and glass ornaments left by a previous inhabitant have been removed, and it's only after a moment's thought I realize that he's removed anything which could be used in a suicide attempt. Even the blankets have charms on them so I can't remove them from the bed, and when I experiment with trying to pick a thread from my pink sweater, my nail chips against the yarn.

Curiouser and curiouser. Snape's done an unexpectedly efficient job in imprisoning me, but from what he said earlier, he probably knows more than almost anyone about murder. I wonder, idly, how many ways he's seen people killed.

He'd mentioned a Weasley imbecile. That can mean only one person, my poor Ginny, has become Malfoy family chattel.

I begin to cry, partly in self-pity, partly for Ginny and the friends I'll never know what happened to. Not knowing what's become of her is worse than knowing; my mind comes up with a thousand horrible tortures they could've inflicted upon her.

She's become an object, like a book or a desk or a bottle of brandy.

Snape doesn't like noise, and I don't want an excuse to see him, so I turn my face into my pillow, and let it muffle my tears so that only I can hear it.

---


	3. Chapter 3

---

Short chapter. Thank you, thank you, thank you again for your reviews. Feel free to offer suggestions - I have eight chaps written, still have to write 4 or so more. 

---

Professor Snape and I worked together on Saint Valentine's Day. Neither of us really wanted to go to the ball, I don't think. Harry and Ron were away from the school, and I didn't want to be cooed at and pitied by Lavender and Parvati because my on-again off-again boyfriend wasn't with me on the International Day when it was Unacceptable to be Sans-Love-Interest.

It was after class, in the evening, when we decided to meet in the lab. He'd be working on Wolfsbane while I whipped up the more banal potions that the Infirmary needed, like Sober-Up and Skele-Gro. That's always how it worked. He'd do the complicated work, while I made sure all the simple but nonetheless important tasks were out of the way.

"Why have you forsaken Casanova Weasley this evening, Miss Granger?"

It was only six-thirty, hardly evening, but the idea of Ron as romantic in any way made me snort. I shook my head at Professor Snape and went to find a properly-sized cauldron.

"Casanova, sadly, has forsaken me for a Chudley Cannons game in Fayum with his brother and my other best friend," I shrugged. "What about you, don't you have your own plans?"

He ignored the implication.

"Let me see if I understand this properly, Miss Granger. Your lackwit other half has left you, and school, for an Egyptian Quidditch holiday with Potter?"

"Right." I sighed deeply. "I suppose it doesn't matter. He'd just end up dragging me off to that silly dance, giving me his favourite candy - Chocolate frogs, even though he knows I like Muggle chocolate bars - then proceeding to eat it all himself before drinking too much and complaining about how much I study."

Professor Snape scrutinized me a moment as I twisted my hair up into an elastic and slipped a work robe over my jeans and sweater, but said nothing.

After a moment, I swore he muttered something under his breath, but I wasn't brave enough to ask him to repeat it more loudly.

I had the Skele-Gro mixed and ready in twenty minutes, and while I let it steep, I hurried off to the greenhouses to pick up a parcel of daisies I promised to chop and bottle. While inside the glass house, I met Professors Flitwick and Sprout, who were nuzzling in a most unexpected way, especially since Professor Sprout had a good two and a half feet on the diminutive charms professor, and the small man had to stand on an upturned flowerpot to reach her cheek.

"Miss Granger!" he squeaked. "Not at the dance?"

"No, not tonight," I replied quickly. "Ron and Harry are away, so I thought I'd get caught up on some extra work in the Potions lab."

"With Severus, you poor thing." Professor Sprout shook her head. "Here, perhaps this'll cheer you up a bit. Doesn't it look lovely, Filius?"

She rakishly stuck a pink spring rose into my hair, one of the painless, thornless hybrids she'd been working on. It smelled lovely, and she and Professor Flitwick both convulsed in laughter when they saw it in my hair.

"You... teehee... _ rose _ to the occasion." Flitwick chuckled. "Say hello to Severus for us, though no doubt he'll just berate you for it."

"Er... right. Thank you, Professors, good-night."

I had to wonder if they'd been drinking before I got there.

When I returned to the lab, Professor Snape stared at me as if I'd grown a pair of antennae rather than met two silly lovebirds cuddling over a pile of mulch.

"Met a would-be admirer on the way, Miss Granger?"

He laced his voice with the usual annoyance he reserved for children snogging in corners and moony teenagers caught passing romantic notes in class.

I scoffed. "Hardly. I'm not Lavender Brown. Professor Sprout felt sorry for me and stuck this in my hair."

My face turned red. I loathed pity. He nodded slowly and returned to stirring.

"It _ is _ lovely, though, I think I'll put it under a preserving charm." I ran a finger over it. "I've never gotten roses before, from anyone."

I could see him watching me from the corner of his eye, though I wasn't sure whether he was actually interested or whether he was just irritated that his Potions assistant wouldn't keep quiet for more than five minutes at a stretch. I turned and went back to work, clipping the heads off the daisies, tossing the white and yellow petals into the garbage next to me.

"Such a pity," I murmured, then remembered that Snape was in the room with me. "I know, I'm being sentimental."

He hunched back over his cauldron, as if fascinated by the contents, but I knew he was watching me. He never stopped watching. I'd never seen him let his guard down, never saw him in a situation where he wasn't sizing up everyone around him.

"Miss Granger, I think you've done enough work," he declared after he saw me stopper the bottle of daisy roots and move to flask the cauldron of Skele-Gro. "Return to your dormitory, I'll finish that up."

"Really? Thank you, Sir." I pulled off the work robe. "And Sir? Have a good Valentine's day."

In the middle of the night, I had a dream that my entire room was filled with flowers - fat-blossomed tea roses in golden yellow and dusky pink that clouded the air with sweet fragrance. They were scattered over my comforter, over the hair fanned out over my pillow, wreathed around my bed. It was the sort of out-of-the-blue gesture I'd always hoped of from Ron, though I knew I'd be lucky if Ron actually remembered Valentine's day was anything but the anniversary of the creation of the Wronski feint. My fingers trailed over the flowers, cool and silky and damp with dew, and I wondered how they'd gotten there.

I was afraid, for a moment, thinking that someone had broken my wards - even Malfoy wasn't talented enough with charms and transfiguration to get past them, and he was the smartest student in my year. Eventually I settled back onto my bed and just breathed in the perfume.

When I awoke in the morning, every petal was gone, and I realized it had just been an unexpectedly lovely dream.

---

Like a medieval ascetic, I now shun everything that Snape offers me. In some part of my mind, I know it's illogical. A prisoner doesn't deny himself the food brought to his cell; but for some reason, touching anything he brings makes me feel like a traitor. Each night I sleep in the corner, with one pillow from the bed, and every morning, I find myself tucked in like a child beneath the covers.

Why he - or maybe Loki - bothers, I don't know.

The first two days there was a dish of soup and bread and chocolate left on my bedside table under a warming charm. After they went uneaten, they stopped being delivered. Pointless, really, as I now refuse to touch anything but the strong-as-lye tea left on the nightstand with neatly arranged tea tray.

I think he's told Loki to stay far away from me; the house-elf just glares and bares his teeth at me when he delivers my meals, or now, my black tea.

Considering how easy I find it to fall asleep in the corner of the room, and how I have never awakened in the middle of the night while being moved, I can only conclude that the treacle-dark Earl Grey has been brewed that way to cover up a sleeping potion. Though I don't eat, I haven't lost weight, either; he's probably slipping a nutritive into my drinks as well.

Today I have decided to forego my caffeine hit and see who it is that's moving me at night, whether it's Loki to scrub the floors, or Snape for some unknown reason.

In evening, I take the teapot, measure out a cup, and carefully pour it into the drain in the bathroom before curling up in my usual spot beside the desk. I close my eyes in a parody of sleep, and wait to see what will happen.

I know it's Snape just by the ripple of the wards. The heavy footsteps against the floor planksjust confirms it for me. When he pauses before me, I have to remember to act like I'm asleep.

Keep the breathing rhythmic, in out, in out.

He lets out a deep sigh.

"Miss Granger," he mutters. "Whatever shall I do with you?"

I almost reply, but catch myself when I realize he's just talking to himself. He kneels before me; I can tell from the faintest breath on my cheek and the warmth radiating from his body.

His long fingers reach around the back of my neck, push forward my head, and he carefully untangles my clip from the snags in my hair. I haven't been touched in ages, and if it were anyone but Snape I might've welcomed it. After the clip goes, he slips his arms under my shoulder blades and knees, lifts me up from the floor and settles me on the bed. I can hear him setting something on the table, I think my clip, then shifting around the bed linens until I'm under them.

A pair of thin fingers brush gently over my forehead before the door slams and I'm left alone again.

I don't want to think about why.

---


	4. Chapter 4

In answer to a question I got by email - there will be NO character deaths in the story. Also, the rating will go up in future chapters.

Thank you again to the people who took the time to review. It brightens my day. :-) Again, suggestions, questions, welcome. If I don't answer your question, it means that it'll be answered in a future chapter.

---

Someone's banging on the door. I let out a whimper of protest - my alarm hasn't even gone off yet, it must be close to six in the morning.

It's been four days since the odd discovery that Professor Snape has a penchant for tucking me into bed. He hasn't laid a finger on me otherwise, and I haven't seen him at all.

His emotionless declaration that I am his Mudblood whore still lingers with me.

"Go away," I mutter through my pillow, still half-asleep.

"Miss Granger, get up, now."

I sit bolt upright at Snape's sharp-as-crystal voice, and scrabble out from the covers and into the bathroom. Usually I wash my clothing in the sink during the day and wear it to bed at night; I don't need Snape to see me in my underwear.

"Miss Granger, are you awake?"

"Give me a minute," I mutter.

My pants and shirt are still damp from their sink-washing the night before. I hate the feeling of wet, cold denim against my skin. I drag a comb through my hair, clip it up, and move to the doorway.

"I'm fine," I reply acidly. "Do you need something?

This morning I'm feeling angry, not my usual submissiveness, probably because I haven't had my morning cup of paint-stripper-masquerading-as-tea.

The door opens just a crack, and I can see one black eye peering inside to check if I'm decent.

"Follow me," he says. "You'll be assisting me today."

I watch him suspiciously, but he doesn't give me any clues as to what I might be assisting him with. After a minute, I shrug and follow him out of the room. After all, it must be more interesting than being locked in that room, and if I don't, he might just put me under the Imperius curse.

---

Professor Snape and I didn't make many potions together after the first month; shockingly, that task was left to _our_ Potions assistant, Anthony Goldstein. Dumbledore made some excuse about Professor Snape working on research for the Ministry, and that I had become his library research assistant. Thus, Madam Pomfrey needed a student to brew the infirmary potions - and Anthony was the man for the job.

Not far off, in truth. It should've been Draco brewing the Infirmary potions, since his grades were near mine, but he took the Mark in sixth year. In our long hours spent together in the library, Professor Snape somehow let it slip that blonde, waifish Draco was now a Death Eater.

Professor Snape became more chatty with me as time passed. Not that I protested; much as Ron and Harry hated him, he and I seemed to get along well. He was terribly bright, terribly witty when he wasn't angry with you, and I held some detached admiration for his heroics.

His voice interrupted my thoughts. "These books were sent to me from Durmstrang, be careful with them, please, Miss Granger."

I realized my school robe was brushing against one book's thready spine, flaking bits of leather off and onto the table.

"I'm sorry, Sir, I'm a bit tired."

"Ah, yes, the tragic fourteenth breakup with Casanova."

"I know, it's silly," I replied absently. "The only reason I get back with him at all is because I get so lonely..."

He stared through me with that glassy stare he put on whenever he didn't want you to guess what he was thinking.

"Take a short break, then, Miss Granger."

"No, no, you've been working longer than me and you're fine, I'll just sleep it off when I get through this book."

"Actually I could do with a break," he muttered, standing up.

I stood too, furrowed my brow. "Where are you going?"

"Though it's none of your concern, Miss Granger, I thought I might go down to the kitchens."

"May I come along? I don't want to have Mister Filch shouting at me for being out after curfew."

He shrugged. "I suppose. Hurry up, though."

We walked alongside each other in silence. It was long past curfew - twelve fifteen, to be exact - and I should've probably been doing my rounds and scaring snogging couples off from their hiding-holes.

They were lucky, for once; neither Snape nor I had the time to do so.

The castle, that night, seemed almost abandoned, and I kept inching closer to the Professor, wishing we were back in his brightly-lit office, reading over old dark texts over cups of milky Earl Grey. I was curious as to why Dumbledore let me read about dark magic, but didn't question it - perhaps he trusted me more than he trusted Harry to maintain a detached and scholarly interest in it.

Then again, maybe he knew something I did not.

Professor Snape held the door open for me, and when we stepped inside we were met by two house-elves. They gasped and shivered and cowered at the sight of me, and began muttering something about 'no sweaters, no sweaters,' as they tried to use one another as shields.

My reputation preceded me, apparently. When I glanced over at Snape, I was even more shocked - a smile played at his lips.

When he noticed me staring, his smile vanished.

"Now I see why you scowl all the time, you'd never intimidate anyone looking like that," I said impishly.

He opened his mouth to protest, but I didn't give him the chance. Instead, I turned to the house-elves and began ordering what I wanted.

"A chocolate bar, Muggle chocolate, Drifter or Curly Wurly if you have it. I know you keep some around for the first years away from home, and I want one." I nodded down at them. "And a cup of hot chocolate."

"How unpredictable," he muttered dryly. "Flissy, Glenfiddich, double, on the rocks."

I opened and shut my mouth in a delicate fish impersonation, and he crooked his eyebrow in amusement.

"Don't tell me you're a teetotaller, Miss Granger?"

"No, I just thought... well, you seem so adamant against students drinking in Hogsmeade, and at dances..."

"And do you really think it would do for the head of Slytherin to be chumming around with the imbeciles he's forced to teach, chanting, 'hey, boys, another round, on me,' Miss Granger?"

I blushed. "No... I suppose I just never really thought of any of my teachers as anything more than that persona they put on for the students. Silly, I suppose, considering all the times Harry and Ron have gotten drunk and raucous and none of the teachers seemed to notice..."

"And you don't join in such crapulence?"

I smiled. "I was always afraid of getting caught."

He let out a snort. "Believe me, Miss Granger, if Albus believes you to have the maturity to decide whether you wish to join the Order of the Phoenix, I doubt he can fault you for indulging in the occasional alcoholic beverage."

I bit my lip and took the tray from the house-elf. "But you don't think I have the maturity to decide, do you?"

Snape looked uncomfortable, as if he were actually worried he might hurt my feelings.

"I believe," he began slowly, "That the course of one's life should not be based on one decision made at age eighteen."

I followed his eyes to where they lingered; his right forearm, where I knew the Dark Mark was still incised deeply into the skin. His expression was as deeply regretful as I'd ever seen before. He swallowed his entire drink in one gulp, leaving just the ice clinking about in the bottom, and pawned it off on Flissy to be refilled. I settled on a nearby bench and watched him; Snape and I had never had such an... intimate conversation before.

"You were eighteen when you took the Dark Mark?"

I'd expected him to bark back at me to mind my own business, but it seemed that the scotch had loosened his tongue.

He gave a bitter half-grin. "To the day, Miss Granger."

"Why did you change sides?"

He snorted. "Honestly? Dumbledore offered me a better deal."

My eyes widened. "So... you still believe in... the Dark Lord's ideology?"

"If I did, Miss Granger," he answered quietly, "I would not be speaking to you as I am now."

I furrowed my brow and sipped at my hot chocolate. He really was brilliant, funny... but I knew he was, in some way, permanently damaged. I'd never been the sort of girl that wanted to 'fix' damaged people, and I knew, especially in Snape's case, that it was better to stay far from him.

I sometimes wondered if he even recognized his own cruelty, anymore.

"I think we have worked enough tonight," he abruptly said. "Return tomorrow evening at seven to continue our work."

I set aside my now-empty mug and nodded obediently. "Yes, Sir. Thank you."

He stared at the wall, eyes glazed and mindless.

"And Miss Granger?"

"Yes, Professor?"

"Do not be in such a hurry to do your Gryffindor duty." He tapped his fingers against his arm. "You owe no-one but yourself."

I furrowed my brow - what in God's name was he prattling about? After a minute I shrugged it off, murmured polite good-byes, and scurried back to my room to ponder our odd exchange.

---

"Get inside."

I flush and step through the threshold, afraid at what he might have awaiting me on the other side of the door.

Apparently nothing really awful. I'm now in the tidiest, best-stocked potions lab I've ever seen. Deeply-warded cabinets are lined with every rare ingredient I've ever read about, and some I haven't, from mermaid's tears to kappa scales. Cauldrons of every size and material sit on a smooth black-marble countertop.

On the corner of the bench are a neatly-arranged line of ingredients, a knife, and a cauldron.

"You'll be brewing a contraceptive today," he says. "Get to it, and you better not do anything foolish, or you'll never see outside your room again."

"Where are you going to be?"

He sneers. "Entertaining the owners of said contraceptive, Draco and Lucius Malfoy."

I blench and turn toward the bench.

"Yes, Sir."

It isn't a difficult task. In fact, it's supremely boring - still, better than my cell, with nothing to do. The three ingredients are simple to mix together, and then require only five clockwise stirs with a wooden spoon every five minutes. I set my watch to beep at five-minute intervals, and when it finishes, I strain it into phials, cap them and wait for the cauldron to cool so I can scrub it clean. I lean back against the counter and examine the shelves around me. The books look fascinating, though I can tell some are very dark.

I wonder, momentarily, if he's left me here to taunt me.

"Hermione?"

That's definitely not Snape's voice. I freeze, thinking, perhaps, that I've finally cracked, and am now imagining the voice of Ginny Weasley calling out to me.

"Hermione, is that you?"

I turn on my heel. What I see isn't little Ginny Weasley in her school uniform, the image of the eleven year old I befriended when I was in second; it's Ginny Weasley, an eighteen year old woman in a wispy gown made from expensive silk, her hair rolled into bouncy pin-curls and her face made up like a Regency painting. She doesn't have that skinny, tomboyish look I remember; no, Ginny, without me noticing it, has somehow undergone a metamorphosis into a curvaceous hourglass encased in expensive fabric.

"Ginny?"

I keep the knife in my hand, just in case this is some sort of trick.

"God, Hermione." Her voice cracks. "You're so thin... and you're so pale, what's he done to you?"

"Done to me?"

"Snape, of course."

I shake my head. He hasn't really done anything _to_ me. How to explain that I've done this to myself? It sounds completely illogical. Maybe I _have_ cracked...

In short order, Ginny steps forward, pinches the knife from my hand, lays it aside, and pulls me into a tight embrace. Within seconds my silent shock erodes, and I'm hiccupping into her shoulder, shaking under the arms that are so frighteningly reminiscent of Molly's.

"Shh, Hermione, it's all right, you can tell me."

"I thought... I don't know, I imagined all sorts of horrid things that'd happened to you," I mumble against her shoulder. "I was so scared."

"Nothing horrible's happened to me." She pets my hair. "You look like you need a sandwich. I know Snape hasn't been starving you. Why haven't you been eating?"

Why? Why? My only measure of defiance. Passive aggression, as Muggle psychologists call it.

Wait a moment... I narrow my eyes at her..

"How do you know that I've stopped eating?"

Ginny pauses, then smiles crookedly. "Snape asked me to find out, that's how."

"You were talking to Professor Snape?" I ask slowly, not quite comprehending.

"Well, yes, when Draco brought me along."

"Draco Malfoy!"

Ginny smiles dreamily. "Yes. He brought me along for the trip, isn't that sweet? Pity Snape has such a dreary little house. Malfoy Manor is much bigger, and my apartment's all in pretty shades of pink and yellow - can you believe Draco gave me my own apartment?"

"Ginny, what's wrong with you?"

"Nothing's wrong, I'm just so terribly lucky..."

"Lucky?" I step back and scrutinize her.

She's too giddy, too prettily dressed and bubbly and shallow and silly. A thread of revulsion works through me, and I hope I'm wrong, pray that I'm wrong. If I'm right, I'll have no respect left for her.

"Why, because you have the chance to fuck him?" I demand.

Her jaw drops at my casual foul language - I don't think I ever swore when I was in school - but her hot blush and averted eyes tell the truth.

"So he rewards you handsomely for your services?"

She splutters wordlessly, but dealing with Snape has left me with the ability to put off emotion until later, and for now, maintain a frosty exterior. Her face is mottled-red, and I well remember how much calm unemotionality aggravates a Weasley.

"No different than what you do with Snape!"

I snort in disdain. "I do nothing for Snape except what he forces me to. I don't take anything from him."

This is why I take nothing; I know that there's truth in the old cliche that there's no such thing as a free lunch. I have no inclination to find out what, exactly, Snape wants in return for his favours. I have the sickening feeling that taking his offerings would leave me like Ginny, mindless and twittery and utterly, utterly foolish. A half-woman trying to compensate with cosmetics and sweet giggles.

Ginny looks torn between anger and nausea.

"We're in love," she finally says.

"In love enough that he's betrothed to Pansy Parkinson, I notice," I reply coolly. "Or is that no longer in the cards?"

Her eyes grow misty; apparently Miss Parkinson is still planning on becoming the next Madam Malfoy.

"You do remember, don't you, that Draco caused the death of your so-called beloved brother, Bill."

"It's not as simple as that..."

She's crying now, but I don't care.

"Who knew that all it took to buy your adoration were a pretty dress and a few boxes of chocolate?" I reply, my voice steely, "It rather makes me rethink the value of your friendship with me."

I'm being terribly, horribly cruel, but for some reason I can't help myself. How could she sell herself to her brother's murderer, a Death Eater, like some common Knockturn Alley slattern?

When she lets out a long, throaty wail and runs out of the room bawling, all I feel is satisfaction. I walk out of the lab after her and watch as she flees down the corridor, hands to her face. My own arms are crossed over my chest, one eyebrow crooked. At the sound of her sobbing, Snape and the two Malfoys appear from within Snape's office to investigate. The younger Malfoy, just as cocky and revolting as ever, hurries to Ginny's side to try and comfort her. Draco glares over at Snape.

"What's she done to my girl?"

Snape snorts. "How would I know? If you'd forgotten, the Weasleys were not the most emotionally stable students at Hogwarts."

"Shut your little whore up, Draco," Lucius snaps. "I'll collect my potions and be on my way now, Severus. Don't worry, Draco won't be bringing her along with him next time."

"I should hope not," Snape replies acidly. "I could barely stand her when she was in my Potions classes."

Ginny lets out a fresh wail, and a smirk flits to my lips.

Lucius and Draco and Ginny stalk by me, none meeting my gaze, and before he follows them, Snape places a hand on my shoulder and sidles up just inches from my ear. I flinch at the touch, and he moves away.

"What did you do?" he seethes softly.

"I did nothing to her, just pointed out a few simple truths about what she's done to herself."

I look pleased with myself, even though inside, my self-satisfaction is already vanishing, to be replaced by guilt and the realization that I've lost the one person who might've been my friend.

"May I go now, _Sir_?"

He steps back and watches me with an odd look, as if searching my face for something. I don't give him anything. I'm tough, I tell myself. My armour's thick.

"I don't care, Miss Granger."

He stalks off after the Malfoys.

---


	5. Chapter 5

After Ginny's visit, I'm more single-minded about not taking anything. I don't want to become like her, an empty, pretty, plastic toy.

Illogical, I know. Part of me knows he hasn't asked anything of me. Part of me knows he hasn't acted wholly monstrous. If he truly hated me so, he would've just beaten me up or kicked me out long ago, left me in a dungeon or placed me under Imperio. He certainly wouldn't keep sneaking into my room at night and slipping me under the covers or making sure I got enough to eat.

But he must want me here for _something_.

The nutritive-laced tea sits on the bedside table, untouched. I don't drink it today. I don't even know why. Maybe I'm just too proud to admit that I'm desperate for any human contact.

Snape doesn't often leave the house anymore, but other than his odd nightly visits he hasn't seen me for a week.

Tonight he slips in, finds me sleeping in the corner again. Though I didn't take any of the potion-laced tea, I still managed to fall asleep. He must have figured out by now that my choice to stay on the floor is intentional, but he doesn't change his pattern.

Long fingers dig into my shoulder blades, under my legs, and in my unaware half-slumber, I sigh and curl into them without realizing who it is. He freezes, but after he figures out that I'm not really awake, he relaxes and continues to work at settling me under the bed sheets. As he does so, he speaks in a low voice, the tone usually reserved for calming stray animals, low and soft, and even with my fuzzy, dreamy mind I wonder how long he's been having one-sided conversations with my unconscious self.

It's bizarre.

"Miss Granger, you are making things entirely too difficult. Even the Dark Lord's motives are simpler to comprehend."

He always seems to find my hair fascinating. It's so frizzy in the winter, so revolting, and yet he always seems to look at it, even now touching it with the barest feather-touches.

"In all things, defiant," he sighs. "Defiant and hard, too much like me. You never used to be that way. I've done this."

Fingers continue to trace over the tendrils of my hair curled over the pillow, never anything closer. He begins slipping his hands away from me, and I let out a whimper of protest. He pauses, then finally draws back entirely.

"Whatever do you want?"

At this point, I'm still in a filmy haze of sleep, and am not quite aware that Professor Snape, the real one, not just some dream fabrication, is asking me the question. I smile and shift under the covers and I can feel the tension, the sudden instinct to flee.

"Books," I murmur. "I'm hungry."

He lets out a deep sigh and when I hear the door click shut, I know he's left. With the sound, I'm suddenly, acutely awake, and it's only the lingering smell of pine and smoke that confirms that he's been there.

---

Our hiding place was a three-by-six foot storage area underneath an area rug. The wards had been breached, Professor Snape and I hadn't been anywhere close to a floo, and our portkeys were sitting in the library.

We'd only left the library for a second, just to check up on a steeping cauldron of Pepper-Up.

We both felt pretty stupid now that we had been cramped up against one another for forty minutes, waiting in silence for either an Order member to come to our rescue, or a Death Eater to bring us to our end. It was just a brick box, dirty brown-red brick, damp and smelling of mould. The only light was the pale green glow off my watch.

"Professor?"

"What?" he snapped.

I swallowed. "Sorry, nevermind."

He sighed. "Forgive me, Miss Granger, this situation has left me... unnerved."

I shifted against the uncomfortable stone surface, moved my legs a few inches, trying to keep from bumping up against him too much. The cold and wet from the rough brick surface, I knew, would leave me with red marks later.

If there _was_ a later.

"Sorry, Sir, I didn't mean to bump you."

"Miss Granger," he said tiredly. "We are encased in a storage area approximately the size of a large bread bin. Believe me, there is little you can do in here without 'bumping' me."

I didn't answer, just shifted my back against the rough wall.

"I wish I had something I could transfigure into a pillow." I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples. "I wish I could use my wand without the magic giving us away."

He shifted beside me, and a moment later, I felt him drop something in my lap. His cloak. I ran my hands over the rough wool, breathing in the smell of smoke and exotic potions ingredients for just a moment before I slipped it behind my back. The familiar scent of the Potions lab settled my racing heart just slightly, and I offered him a timid smile.

"Thank you, Sir."

He nodded absently.

"Aren't you a spy, still?"

His eyes snapped toward me, dark and cold, and his face went blank and expressionless again. I bit my lip.

"I'm sorry, I don't blame you, I just wondered... it doesn't matter."

"The Dark Lord doubts my loyalty, Miss Granger," he replied softly. "He may be many things, but he is not a fool. In twenty years I have not managed to bring him Dumbledore, or Potter, or even a Weasley to off. Only an utter maladroit would maintain such a poor record."

"What will he do when he finally decides you aren't loyal to him?"

He snorted bitterly instead of answering. An admission of his own pending death, the realization of which sent a thread anger through me. Harry and Ron had made fun of him for seven years, whilst he risked his life to keep them safe. From his expression of quiet acceptance, I could only assume that he had already decided his life would end in the process of spying; it was just a matter of when and how he wasn't quite certain of.

No wonder he was so unpleasant. When had he last done something he really desired?

"Very few people appreciate what you do," I murmured. "How can you stand serving everyone but yourself?"

I could hear him swallow, hear his knuckles popping as he clenched and unclenched his fists.

Heavy footsteps fell over our heads. A man's footsteps, not the light-footed tread that Harry or Ron would've made. I involuntarily clutched Professor Snape's arm, shaking and wondering whether I was only a few seconds away from a painful death. Torture? Rape?

Time flowed thickly, like cold syrup, in those few seconds after the footsteps paused over us.

"I don't want to die," I whispered.

I felt his warm fingers over my own ice-cold ones, a small gesture of reassurance.

"Miss Granger." His voice was hoarse. "Hermione..."

The door over us flung open, and I curled up in a ball.

"Hermione! Severus!"

I let out a sob at the familiar timbre of Remus's voice, and literally jumped from the tiny hiding-hole to throw my arms around him.

"Remus!" I cried. "I thought you were a Death Eater!"

He laughed and patted my back. "There there, Hermione. Ron and Harry are waiting in the sitting room with a pot of tea for you. It was just a false alarm. A group of Ministry officials tried to break through the wards."

"Thank God." I sighed. "I'll never go anywhere without my portkey again."

I turned to help out Professor Snape, but he sneered at my proferred arm and heaved himself from the small enclosure without another word. He crossed his arms, glowered at Remus and I, and stalked out of the lab.

"What's wrong with him?" Remus asked.

"I don't know." I sighed. "I think I might've asked too many questions and annoyed him."

"Pity, I thought he was getting on with you."

"Me too." I shrugged. "Lead on, Macduff. You're supposed to be bringing me to my boyfriend and his water-masquerading-as-tea."

Remus chuckled, and he led me out for a relaxed tea and biscuits with Ron and Harry.

---

When I wake up there are a stack of books beside my bed. Someone has left them there during my short nap; Professor Snape, who else could it be? He's chosen eclectic volumes that the Hogwarts library never had. Transfigurations, Potions, History, Architecture, even a tiny chapbook of medieval charms. I feel my resolve melt.

Books. Why did it have to be books?

He has found my weakness, and I finally break down. The cracked leather bindings on the charms book lures me like crows to a bit of foil. I last only twenty minutes before I reach out to touch the linen cover on the topmost book. Just a peek at the cover, I think. Then just a glance at the front page. Just the first sentence, then paragraph, then page. Soon I've degenerated into reading the entire first chapter.

As I immerse myself in the old hand-copied illuminations, I barely notice Loki appear and leave a dish of cherries with me. By noon, I have a bowl of pits and half a dozen pages noted in my mind for future reference. I've broken.

From the corner of my eye I see him pass by the door, just a dark shape against the thin crack; he pauses, but I don't look up. I wonder what he does with his day? He certainly can't spend eighteen hours brewing contraceptives for the Malfoys.

I wish it could be like it was before. Not equals, but not enemies, either.

By the time I get to the last book, my stomach is doing flips. I haven't eaten this much in ages... I don't know how long. I groan, rub my belly, and try and prop myself up on the pillows, half-remembering my mother's warning that lying flat with a bout of nausea was a bad idea.

Ugh, what had she said? Tea with honey and lemon? No, that was for a sore throat. Chamomile? Wait, no, that was for insomnia. Peppermint? Yes, peppermint sounded about right...

"Eurgh, Loki..."

"Yes, Missy Mudblood?" he asks sweetly.

"Please, please can you find me some peppermint tea?"

Loki's bulbous eyes narrow.

"What is being wrong with ugly Mud... miss?"

My race to the bathroom and subsequent retching adequately answer his question, and I can hear him twittering to himself before he pops of in whatever the house-elf equivalent of apparating is.

I sigh. I'm all right, I've been sick before, I'm quite capable of taking care of myself. Just rinse my acid mouth, wring a cold cloth and wipe my face, and have a bit of a lie in.

No feeling sorry for yourself, I mentally bark. Not like last time. Be strong, and tough...

Oh, who am I kidding? Right about now I'd love a plush toy, a quilt and a liberal helping of mothering.

"Miss Granger?"

Three taps on the door. Snape. Why couldn't he just leave me alone?

"Please go away..."

"May I come in?"

What, into his whore's little room?

"I suppose."

The door slips open, and he eyes the room before stalking over. He looks down - the patent Snape glare - and pauses with indecision before settling into the nearby chair.

"Are you all right?"

I glance at him guardedly. What's he up to? His eyes are hooded and dark.

"Stomach's a bit sick."

"I shouldn't have asked Loki to bring you fruit, even though I knew you would take it first." He frowns at me as if disgusted. "You're still weak."

He fishes around in his pockets and pulls out a glass flask, reaches over for my wrist without the usual halting movement, and feels it for a moment.

"Just as I thought, no fever," he mutters. "Here, drink this."

I feel cold glass against my mouth, and I slowly swallow, blushing furiously as a droplet falls from my lip and down my chin. His thumb brushes it away, and - a beat - he leaps away once he realizes what he's done. His eyes dart about, meeting anything but my own, and I realize with surprise that he's just as unsure as I am about this situation. It makes me feel a bit less bitter, and my inner resolve to stay leather-tough weakens.

Now is as good a time as any to ask him what's on my mind.

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

I pause. He'll be annoyed at me, perhaps angry, but I have to ask.

"Why have you been acting this way, like you hate me?"

He glares. "I'm naturally hateful."

Even though I still feel a little queasy, that makes me laugh.

"No, you're not." I shake my head. "Or if you are, you were quite the actor... I liked you so much that way, was it all false?"

My voice trembles; I sound foolish. Does it matter anymore? Everyone's forgotten about me but Professor Snape. It's as if I never existed.

Though he doesn't speak, his answer is clear. His hand reaches out and brushes a piece of invisible fluff from my shoulder. Then, as if that gesture was terrifyingly intimate for him, he draws back.

"I will be attending a dark revel. Your wand is in the top drawer of the desk." He gestures jerkily to the furniture. "Anything in this room you may consider your own."

He stalks out, leaving me even more confused than before.

---

Sorry if this came up poorly edited - I got my LSAT score today and I was just so damned excited that I couldn't sit down.

Reviews are rays of sunshine in my day. Thank you to everyone who's had the time to leave a comment or question.


	6. Chapter 6

(This chapter was deleted for some reason after I originally posted it - I'm not sure how I managed it, but this badly-formatted version is temporary til I can find the original chapter 6 file - Sorry)

Snape's property is  
much larger than I anticipated. After a few hours working at it,  
I manage to dismantle the ward at the front door with my  
newly-returned wand. The spells he's left on my room still prove  
difficult to overwhelm; he's used rather complex magic in the  
hopes that I wouldn't cut my life short prematurely.

I don't mind, not  
really; with my wand, I can clean my clothing with just a few  
swishes of my wand, repair any little tears in the denim. My  
jeans and sweater look almost new. A measure of freedom - it  
leaves me breathless with excitement. 

Snape's been gone  
five days, but I don't worry, not yet.

I decide to go  
exploring. Walls encircle the property, tall gray-stone ones.  
Pines peek over the tops. Gravel paths meander through what once  
must have been magnificent gardens; through the thistles and  
grass, I can see stringy narciscissi and irises trying  
desperately to blossom without any sunlight. A fountain in the  
centre lies dry, encrusted with algae.

The paths trail off  
into groves of wiry apple trees and melancholy willows. Someday  
I'm sure I'll explore them, but not today. Today I'm just going  
to circle around Snape's house, stretch my legs, take things in  
from another perspective.

Loki perpetually pops  
up out of nowhere, glaring at me suspiciously, as if he's not  
quite sure that I'm allowed to be running about on my own. 

But I'm the one with  
the wand now, and he can do nothing to irritate me, not unless he  
wants to be petrified and left out on the front doorstep. Since  
Snape's earlier warning that he is the master of the  
house and Aurelia is not, Loki hasn't tried any  
pranks.

From my new vantage  
point at the front step, I look up at Snape's house. It looks  
small. The paint peels off the windowframes, and the wrought-iron  
grille is falling off a few of the windows. It's two stories.  
I've never been upstairs; I wonder what he's got hidden.

"What's up there, Loki?"

"Master's bedroom, other bedrooms." He smirks. "Baby  
nursery."

I cringe. I can't imagine Professor Snape as a child; he'd probably been born with  
that scowl and temperament.

Loki's comment,  
however, brings up a question I haven't considered. I know from  
my years at Hogwarts that purebloods simply do not stay swinging  
singles and die bachelors without heirs; even the gay ones  
usually manage to knock up some particularly fertile, willing  
friend with the help of liberal doses of lust potion.

They need heirs.  
Heirs to their family property, heirs to their well-groomed  
pedigrees and titles and names. I have the feeling that Professor  
Snape holds some sort of attraction toward me, though it could  
easily be because I am the only female in thirty kilometres, but  
Muggle women don't make anything but convenient whores, as he has  
already pointed out.

What if he finds some  
Malfoy or Nott woman to wed? To produce children with?

I'll be out on my  
arse. Where would I go? From what Snape has said, England's  
Muggles are now Voldemort's slaves. Perhaps it really is better  
'belonging' to him; Snape generally leaves me alone, gives me  
food and shelter and books, and even, on the rare day, speaks  
civilly with me. After Snape said everything in the room belonged  
to me, I'd acquired seven sets of unused robes still in  
old-fashioned Madam Malkin's packaging, four backissues of Witch  
Weekly dating from the 1970's, and a tortoiseshell cigarette  
holder.

I won't touch them,  
partly because I can't figure out the complex lacing, and partly  
because I don't know who the previous owner was.

If anyone will know,  
it will be Loki. He seems to be in a good mood; he hasn't bared  
his teeth at me once all day, and he answered my earlier question  
about the house.

"Who owned all  
the things in my room before Snape put me in there?"

"Master,"  
he draws out the word, "be having one sister, Aurelia. She  
is used to be using that room as her own sitting room, after Old  
Mistress is dying. You know, we cannot be having nice young  
ladies entertaining their boys in their bedrooms, you know. They  
isn't like Muggles, must be proper."

"Oh, I  
know," I reply. "Positively scandalous."

The sarcasm goes  
right over his head, and he smiles conspiratorially. 

"Mistress  
Aurelia be wishing she is rich." Loki smirks. "She is  
liking to spend lots of galleons, though, so she be marrying a  
Malfoy, they has money she thinks, and very pure, no dirty blood.  
Once she has babies, she cannot fit into all the clothes she buys  
and leaves here, so they just sit, never being worn. You should  
be wearing them, you is small enough. They is in your dresser,  
look much better than ugly Mudblood things. Master says to be  
giving them to Missy Mudblood."

I cringe. "I  
couldn't even figure out how they unfasten. All those  
buttons..."

Loki rolls his eyes.  
"Is why you has house-elves, stupid Missy."

"Perhaps later  
you'll show it to me."

"Now is good, is  
going to rain." Loki shrugs. "Your hair be getting all  
frizzy from the water. Is very frizzy hairs. Not pretty."

Sure enough, less  
than thirty seconds later the air goes from damp to full-on  
buckets of water splashing down, accompanied by crashing thunder  
and the sound of trees being split by distant lightning. I race  
back to the front door, Loki following closely, and don't mind at  
all when he vanishes, then reappears with a fat white towel and a  
cup of hot tea.

"Now, Missy,  
what you be doing today? Nice bath? Nice books? Nice robes? Nice  
food?"

Maybe, I think to  
myself, it might be better if I simply relax and try to take some  
small pleasures from my situation. I have no Death Eaters to  
worry about, no homework or studying. Just what I want to do,  
when I want to do so.

I'm surprised at the  
realization that it could be far, far worse. 

---

We settled in for a  
long Order meeting. Despite Snape's earlier warning, I agreed to  
join the Order of the Phoenix, and attended the meetings  
religiously with Ron and Harry. 

Not tonight, though.  
Ron had gotten particularly drunk and vulgar two weeks earlier  
when he'd discovered I had plans to study in Italy and France  
next year while he stayed in England to become a Quidditch  
player. He had some unrealistic fantasy in his mind that I'd  
follow him from game to game and pop out titian-haired babies at  
a rate roughly equal to that of a rabbit in heat.

He and I were still  
on uncomfortable terms; I'd expressly told Harry to stay by his  
side, try to keep him calm. I knew that of the two of us, Ron was  
the one who'd try to make Harry choose sides, perhaps even shun  
Harry's friendship if he perceived that I was getting any sort of  
preferential treatment.

I was the one who did  
the dumping. Maybe I was supposed to suffer a bit.

In any case, I seated  
myself in the far corner of the room, where the shadows would  
shield me from most of the discussion.

"Miss  
Granger."

I jumped, then  
smiled.

"Professor."  
I nodded in acknowledgement.

"May I  
sit?"

"Of course,  
Sir."

He settled at the  
opposite end of the small loveseat. I didn't look at him - I was  
too busy trying to decide whether Ron was all right or not. Ron's  
eyes were puffy and ringed with red, and he sniffled quite a bit  
into his cloth handkerchief. When Professor McGonagall appeared  
with a tea tray, I turned to Snape, and spoke with him for the  
first time that night.

"Would you like  
me to bring you some tea?"

He looked taken  
aback. "Yes, thank you... Miss Granger. I take it  
with..."

"Three sugars,  
black, I know." I offered him a small smile. "Do you  
want any of the biscuits or sandwiches?"

He stared at me.  
"No... thank you."

I prepared two  
beakers, one the way I liked it, one the way he did.

After a languorous  
sip, Professor Snape cleared his throat and turned to speak with  
me again. 

"Have you heard  
back from Mistress Crocetti?"

"Yes, she asked  
me to send her two potions samples," I replied quietly.  
"She was quite impressed with my background."

"That's what  
brought on your sudden breakup with Mister Weasley?"

"Not so sudden,  
but yes." I nodded. "I want to thank you for sending  
that letter of recommendation."

His voice was low,  
and his eyes stared down at the worn carpet. "It was...  
deserved."

"But coming from  
you, it means a lot," I whispered, yawning widely. "I  
spent half the night brewing them."

He opened his mouth  
to reply, then changed his mind once he caught Harry watching our  
exchange with curiosity. Then Headmaster Dumbledore appeared,  
smelling of mint toffees and frowning in a rather  
uncharacteristic way.

"We are here to  
discuss Voldemort's plans for England," he began after  
delicately sipping his tea. "Professor Snape has discovered  
his intentions for Muggles and Muggleborns, should he win.  
Explain, Severus."

My ear perked up, and  
I tensed.

"He has certain  
Muggleborn targets he intends to use as rewards for his  
followers," he began slowly. "I do not know who,  
exactly, they target, though I suspect Lucius Malfoy has his eye  
on Miss Granger."

I pressed a hand to  
my mouth to keep from squeaking.

"Worry not, Miss  
Granger, remember that these are his plans should he win."  
Professor Snape drank back the last of his tea before continuing.  
"He also plans on disabling electrical power generators, the  
telephone grid, and the means for pumping water into Muggle  
homes. Reading by Muggles will also be banned."

My stomach lurched;  
it had a sickening similarity to the Bantustans in South Africa.

I looked over at  
Snape, one thought clear in my mind. If we lose, that will be my  
future. Either that, or as Malfoy's toy.

He stared back at me  
with dark eyes, but continued with his story; that Pansy  
Parkinson had taken the mark, as had Vincent Crabbe. That the  
Dark Lord was promising valuable rewards in exchange for the  
completion of certain tasks.

I saw Dumbledore  
stroking his beard thoughtfully, but I was tired, and by the time  
the meeting moved onto publicly reading Tonks and Lupin's  
progress reports from Death Eater activities in Romania, I was  
already yawning.

Ron and his brother  
Bill had already gotten into a heated argument about some  
minutiae in the report, and I found myself working hard to keep  
awake.

"Miss  
Granger," Professor Snape said quietly. "Do not worry,  
you will miss little of consequence."

I smiled at him.  
" Promise you'll wake me if anything fascinating  
happens?"

He paused, as if  
debating whether to throw an acidic comment in my direction, but  
decided upon simply nodding.

I fell asleep on the  
sofa next to him, but when I awoke, I found myself in my bed at  
Order headquarters. My shoes were even set off to the side. 

I thought, at the  
time, that it was Molly's doing. 

---

Loki rifles through the drawers, chatting amiably about his house-elf parentage and  
how this relates to the Noble House of Snape. Apparently, this  
house was placed in escrow by the Ministry, under the control of  
Lucius Malfoy of all people, and was only recently returned to  
Professor Snape. Debts from an earlier Snape generation, Loki  
says.

Lucius Malfoy is, by Loki's account, Professor Snape's sister's husband's brother.  
Which, I suppose, makes him some sort of roundabout  
brother-in-law. The idea of him as someone's family is unnerving;  
does Draco think of him as an Uncle?

I think not. The Malfoys are richer than Snape, put on far more airs and graces.  
They have that unnatural surface perfection that you find only in  
propaganda films; beautiful, rich, charming.

Loki's small fingers pull away from my hair. He said he wanted to play with it, and  
rather than let him get into another snit I allow him to do so.  
He's not very good at it, tugs a lot and snags, and complaining  
loudly about my dryness and split ends.

"Does Missy want green or gray?"

"Oh, you've got  
to be kidding me," I snap. "Even the clothing are  
Slytherin coloured?"

"No," Loki huffs, "Loki just be liking green and gray. In here is  
also... yellow, and some blue. Black. Mistress Aurelia is being a  
Ravenclaw girl. You likes books, you's in there too?"

"No," I reply shortly as he yanks on a lock of hair too hard again.  
"Just pick one, it doesn't really matter, does it? We're  
just... how did you put it before? Playing dress-up."

"Yes." Loki offers me a genuine smile. "You be having fun with  
Loki."

He motions for me to  
raise my arms, and when I do so, not only do my clothes vanish,  
but they reappear folded and pressed on the nearby chair. Loki  
ignores my sudden blush and embarrassment from being suddenly  
stripped down to my underclothing.

I've never had anyone  
dress me before, and it seems unnaturally lazy to do so. The  
folds of silky material float out of the packaging, settle  
delicately over my shoulders, neck, waist, hips. He's picked  
white, frothy with gold and white lace and ribbon.

"Ohh." Loki whimpers. "Loki is no good with ribbons! Ribbons is always  
Loki's undoing."

I laugh at the unintended pun, and absently pat him on the head. He's being  
positively kind to me today. Hopefully his good mood will stay  
for a few days.

Suddenly the lacing  
around the neck tightens around the front. It's cutting off my  
breathing. Oh, God, he's trying to kill me. I'm going to die by  
house-elf strangulation, via gold satin ribbon, pass out on the  
floor...

But no, I've thought  
wrong. Loki's jaw drops, he gasps, and suddenly the ribbon  
loosens.

"Missy? Is Missy okay? Ohhh, Loki is bad. Loki needing punished. Loki make  
accident, too tight, hurt Missy. Master would be so angry put me  
out with sock when Missy tells him..."

I swallow.  
"Well. Perhaps we can forget about this... as long as you're  
polite and obedient with me, all right?"

He nods automatically, looking awfully relieved, then cocks his head. His  
face grows thoughtful, and he doesn't look like he's listening to  
me anymore.

"Something be  
wrong," Loki murmurs. "Master here... but..."

He vanishes with a soft crack, and I'm left alone. I look in the mirror; I look  
strange, like an idealized painting of myself or a large, pale  
doll. I don't like it; I'm reminded of Narcissa Malfoy or Pansy  
Parkinson. I'm too thin, as well; I've always been the type of  
girl who thought I should probably lose ten pounds, but now I  
don't like it. Despite my admiration of Elle McPherson and Naomi  
Campbell, I realize now that I can never look like them; my  
breasts and hips have been replaced by unattractively-angular  
plates, ribs, beads of bone under my skin.

Loki appears again.  
He's got mud on his feet and he looks like he might cry.

"Missy... Loki needs help. Master sick."

"What? Where?"

"Outside. Master cut up. Maybe Master  
dead." He lets out a soft, sad squeal.

I swallow hard.

"Take me to him."


	7. Chapter 7

It's wet outside, though the rain's stopped. Puddles soak the pale hemline of my newly-adopted robe. An inch of cold water soaks my trainers. Gooseflesh ripples my arms like a plucked chicken's skin.

"At bottom." Loki sniffles. "Bottom... steps. Master."

In the dusk sun, everything seems washed in shades of gray, and I almost don't notice the pooled black wool cape against muddy earth. But then I see shafts of milky-white skin at the nape of his neck, his fingers like pale spiders against the dark ground.

And dark smudges against his pale skin. I lean forward and breathe in deeply, praying for courage. The air smells sharply of copper; the dark streaks are blood. I close my eyes and reach out to his neck. His skin is too gray and flat looking. I suspect he's dead.

That's why he returned my wand, I think. He knew he might die. I'm startled by the sudden realization, now, that Professor Snape is the one person who's been protecting me against the Malfoys and... whatever it is that's out there. I know nothing about what's happening outside my golden cage. I have no idea where I am. Captor yes, but also protector.

The wind comes in sobbing gusts. How far would I have to walk to find other people? A settlement?

My finger connects with his throat. Please don't let him be dead.

Thank God, I still feel warmth, still feel his heartbeat's gentle rhythm beneath vellum-fine skin. His face is half-sunk in the soil, and when I turn his head upward, there's mud and blood and what I suspect is vomit over his mouth and face. I use my hand to wipe it before I realize that I have my wand. A quick swish and both he and I are cleaned off. His head settles in my lap, sticky-red trailing from his cuts, his expression set in a permanent grimace even though he's unconscious.

"Professor Snape?"

No response.

"Professor Snape, can you hear me?"

Again, nothing. Loki presses his hand to his teeth to stifle his cry.

"Severus," I try, a last ditch attempt.

He groans something incomprehensible against my leg. I brush my fingers through his perpetually-greasy hair and heal a few stray lacerations, hoping that he can somehow feel that I have no ill-intent.

"I'm sorry, this is going to hurt," I whisper. "But it can't be helped. I'm going to have to levitate you."

Even as he floats upwards from the ground, I can hear his strangled cry. It sounds like he's trying to shout through fluid; even I realize that's a very bad sign.

I head down the left corridor, but Loki tugs on my hem and points in the opposite direction.

"No, no," Loki murmurs. "Master's bedroom is upstairs, is easier this way."

"The stairs are warded, Loki."

He smirks. "Not the stairs for servants, is they? Follow me, Loki knows, Loki be good and Master will be better. Come, bring Master flying!"

I sigh and gently turn Professor Snape's body in the opposite direction, accidentally knocking his ankle against a balustrade in the process. He lets out a grunt, and I cringe.

"Not too much longer," I whisper to him, touching his shoulder.

My fingers come away smudged with blood. I try not to dwell on it as Loki guides us through tiny, winding corridors, and finally up a claustrophobically-narrow, unadorned staircase. I have to angle Professor Snape as I float him through, and my stomach flips when I realize he's leaving a dark-red trail behind us.

"Not much longer," I reassure him, though it might be a lie for all I know.

"That's right," Loki whispers. "Soon, we be quick. Through this door... see? Is on the left."

I have no doubt that this giant walnut door keeps unwanted visitors out of Severus Snape's bedchamber. When he wakes, he might be angry that I've invaded his personal space. Right now, it doesn't matter.

His body settles into the dark satin bedding. I turn to Loki, all business.

"Bring me a phial of blood replenishing potion number three," I order. "The lime-green one, third cabinet from the left, second shelf down."

Loki hesitates. "But Master says Loki mustn't bring Missy anything she might harm herself with..."

"Your master will be dead if you don't get me the potion. Now are you going to do it, or am I going to have to do it myself?"

I run my hand menacingly over my wand. Loki's eyes widen before flicking back towards Professor Snape. Loki eventually nods and vanishes, leaving me with the near-impossible task of extricating his master from his robes. It's only now that I'm alone, with decisions to make, that I realize how hard my heart is beating, how much I wish he'd just _wake up_. Some sign that he'll be all right.

I brush one hand over his arm. I've been so foolish. What if he really does die? I could run away. Where? England is ruled by Lord Voldemort, the property is surrounded by wards. God knows where else... no. Now is not the time to think about that. Now I have to focus on healing him.

His Death Eater robes are heavy velvet, the once-silver embroidery now thick with filth.

When I tear off the top two buttons, the fabric slips away, leaving only a simple shirt and pants. That's as far as I've gotten before Loki reappears with the blood replenisher. I flick my wand - the pants vanish, but the shirt and undershirt are stuck to his skin with blood. I leave them - I don't want to hurt him.

Knowing he's unconscious, I crawl onto the bed to get at him more easily.

I flick my eyes over his battered body. I bark orders like a military commander.

"Loki. Pain killer and a scalpel, please."

Loki's eyes widen, and I swear he's imagining me using his beloved Master as a living dissection specimen. He doesn't question me, though, and returns moments later as I'm forcing open Snape's mouth and pouring the horrible-tasting potion down his throat. Not quite sure what to do, I lean down and listen to his chest. It doesn't sound liquidy anymore; his breathing seems to have cleared. Just in case, I place a bubble-head charm over him before getting onto the clothes.

I'm not a Medi-witch. It's all guesswork beyond the basic first aid that every witch or wizard picks up along the way.

There's no way I'll pull him out of his clothes without injuring him further, so I very, very carefully cut his shirt, then undershirt with the scalpel, and peel them back.

I let out a sigh of relief. No nicks. Though with the number of gashes he's already suffered, I doubt it would matter.

His shorts will stay on him, though I have to cut off his undershirt.

With three best friends who constantly played Quidditch, I know how to perform charms to fix a cut. The twitching from Crucio overexposure, that's another matter altogether, and I decide to ignore it and hope for the best. The gashes are long and deep, perhaps well-aimed slicing hexes. By the time I've cleared the biggest ones from his chest and shoulders, the blood replenisher's worked its magic, and the unhealthy gray pallor has been replaced by its usual unhealthy whiteness.

He's all scarred. Not from tonight, but very old ones; a lunate mark on his shoulder, a hard white circle on his upper arm, a long, straight one from hs upper chest to his belly. When I reach out to test his pulse again, his skin crawls, and suddenly, one hand darts out to clamp down on my wrist. His eyes snap open, black, wild, darting about the room.

I freeze. He's most definitely alive.

"It's just me," I whisper.

He slowly relaxes and the steel fist unclenches from my arm. His eyes flutter shut. He lets out a mumbling noise and moves his head slightly, unknowingly using my side as his pillow.

"I've never seen anyone this hurt before," I murmur. "What did you do?"

"What I didn't do," he mutters. "Do you think the Dark Lord thought I needed a potions assistant?"

His voice is slurred with exhaustion and the temporary high from the blood replenisher. It's strange, he's always been overpoweringly in control, and now he's no better than a doll in my hands. He's not terrible looking this way, relaxed and pale, with thin lips and eyelashes like dark scythes against alabaster.

"I shouldn't have brought you here," he murmurs. "But I didn't know what else to do, Hermione."

I run my fingers over his temples like I used to do with Ron and Harry when they'd drank too much.

"I was terrified you wouldn't come back," I say. "I thought you were dead."

He doesn't hear me. His breathing is steady, he's relaxed, and his expression is almost pleasant. He's fallen asleep. I watch him, admiring his pale skin, dark hair, long fingers for a few minutes. I'm drawn to him, affectionate. I lose track of time, but the rain peters out and the sun rises while I sit in the balloon chair, staring at him.

Though I'm not quite sure why, I give in to my odd urge to press a kiss to his forehead, and slip out.

---

"You'll be bait, Miss Granger. Lucius Malfoy is one of Voldemort's closest. Severus - Professor Snape here - is, in actuality, spying for us. If we capture Lucius using you to lure him out, that would leave us with only Bellatrix Lestrange to deal with," Headmaster Dumbledore told me.

"Do not readily agree, Miss Granger," Professor Snape hissed. "This is a lethal game you play. More likely than not, it will prove fatal."

"I can't just say no, Sir!" I protested. "Not if it might end the war."

"Allow me a few moments to explain to her the reality of the situation, Headmaster."

Dumbledore paused for a moment, then nodded. "Do not go out of your way to frighten her off, Severus. I know you wish to."

"I wish that no eighteen old girl would be placed in such a situation," he snapped. "I will give her honesty, which is more than you have offered!"

"Severus." Dumbledore's voice held an uncharacteristic note of warning. "Do not try to manipulate this situation to your advantage..."

"Excuse me," I interrupted, "But what are you two talking about?"

"Oh, nothing you need concern yourself with." Dumbledore smiled. "Suffice to say, you may very well allow Harry to get to Voldemort, should you accept this plan."

"Well then..."

"Wait, my dear," he interrupted. "I have promised Severus that everything will be explained to you before you make your decision. So, Miss Granger, I hope you will listen carefully while he tells you what we will need. There you go, Severus. Explain away."

With that, Dumbledore lifted himself from the sofa, brushed off his robes, and ambled out the door. Professor Snape watched the door closing, and, once it had, took a quick glance around the room as he always did, scanning it for portraits, chocolate frog cards, or mirrors which might overhear secrets. Onc content that nothing was listening, he lifted himself up from his seat, poured him and I each a drink, and seated himself down at the opposite end of the bench.

At Order Headquarters, during the Spring break, things were different than at school between Snape and I. He still hissed insults at Ron and Harry, called them Potter and Weasley, and in darker moods, Tweedledumb and Tweedledumber, still made comments about Ginny and Harry's near-hourly snogging sessions and their future brood of imbecile children.

At Order Headquarters, he didn't give a damn if I drank and ignored me when I sat up in the kitchen until two thirty in the morning with a good book and a good bar of chocolate. Hell, sometimes he'd even sit there with me.

His lip curled.

"Are you insane, Miss Granger?"

"What?"

I frowned at him and took a sip from the tumbler he poured for me. He was angry, but kept it tightly reined.

"Miss Granger, do you have a death wish? It was only a few weeks ago you professed just the opposite."

"Don't be foolish. You know perfectly well that I don't have a _death wish_, as you put it."

"Well then why would you volunteer for a mission which will likely end with you in a pine box and with Potter reciting an eloquent eulogy?"

"It's probably not going to end that way. You're supposed to come and save me, aren't you?"

"Lucius is not like his son. He has no morals. He is a sociopath of the purest sort, and in war, that is most certainly an advantage."

My expression must have showed my surprise. My mouth formed a tight 'o' and I looked up from my drink to scrutinize him. Only his eyes betrayed his annoyance.

"You think it's weak to show emotion?"

"Yes," he replied. "It is not a matter of opinion. Clear judgment is clouded by _feelings_."

"I disagree," I replied. "If you love a person, you'll work harder to keep them safe. I know that if you truly care for someone, you'll do anything to keep them alive, even sacrifice yourself."

"Which is what you intend to do."

"I'm willing to," I said quietly.

"Who's willing to sacrifice themselves for you, Miss Granger? Who believes you're worth saving?"

I sighed, ignoring his question. "If it means the end to the war, I'll act as bait."

"You'll be in the crossfire, Miss Granger. Lucius does not make mistakes. It's just as likely that he will find a way to remove you from London to Malfoy Manor, where we won't be able to retrieve you. The things he would do to you are beyond your imagination."

"If I don't agree, the task will just fall to someone else." I shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. "I'm capable of doing it."

"Its not your capability I question, its your bloody-minded Gryffindor duty," he snapped. "You do not owe those two morons anything. You have spent seven years protecting them!"

"They're my best friends!"

"They aren't your equals."

I'd had this conversation with him before, and each time it left me angry and upset and full of a dozen insults that I was too polite and respectful to throw at him. Good God, the man didn't even seem to have any friends. How dare he judge me?

"Say it, Miss Granger, I know you want to."

"Say what?"

He shrugged, polished off his drink, and stood suddenly.

"Show some backbone, Miss Granger. If you're willing to throw your life away to Lucius Malfoy, I expect that much at least of you."

He slammed down his glass, and before I had a chance to say anything more, he'd left. I heard him stalk down the hallway, throw a handful of powder into the fireplace, and floo into Knockturn Alley. Just like he always did when he got in a snit.

A moment later, the Headmaster came in again, took a look at Professor Snape's drained glass, my own full one, and my eyes, rimmed red with unshed tears.

"Well, well. Have we come to a decision, then?"

I nodded. "I'll do it."

---

I carefully shut the door behind me, leaving the Professor to sleep in peace. The robes I wear are sweaty and filthy, and I peel them off, toss them onto a nearby armchair. My matching white slip is modest enough, I figure, for prancing about the house. Hell, I could prance about here naked; the only ones who'll see me are the portraits anyhow.

I'd like time to think, but instead, Loki appears with a worried expression.

"Mister Malfoy is here."

I gasp. No, no, no, this is not the time. I can't possibly deal with Lucius Malfoy alone. The Professor can't save me this time, not in his present condition.

Professor Snape has complex spells around his bedchamber, dark protective charms that I can't recognize. I figure, if I'm going to speak with Malfoy, here is the safest place. At least, if I shout a lot, Professor Snape might wake up.

"Show him up here, tell him I can't leave the Professor's side."

Loki nods, and a moment later I see a pair of heads appear up the side staircase.

"I don't know why anyone would ward the main staircase," I hear a snotty, familiar voice snap. "The servant's staircase of all things."

Mister Malfoy, thank God, means Draco in this case.

"Draco, don't dwell on it, I'm sure he has his reasons."

"Paranoid bastard, what the hell does he have to protect anyhow? He isn't what you'd call aristocracy." Draco halts mid-step. "Granger."

I nod at him, then, after a moment, at Ginny by his side. She gulps, and her eyes widen. She's afraid of me. Not that I blame her.

"We came to see Professor Snape." Draco keeps his tone imperious.

"He's asleep."

"Half-dead, you mean," Draco says. "I saw what Aunt Bella and the Dark Lord did to him. You better start putting out, my dear Mudblood, unless you want him dead - perhaps you do? You were given to Snape with a specific purpose in mind."

"And what's that? Rutting about after a hard day of Crucio and killing?" I reply.

Delay him. Keep him from coming inside.

Ginny gasps at my smart mouth, and Draco's eyes narrow.

"Such insolence," Draco says. "If my father had gotten his way and kept you, you wouldn't dare speak to me, let alone raise your voice."

"Believe me, Draco, had I any choice, I would stay as far away from you as possible. I have no desire to converse with you in any fashion."

"Snape evidently indulges you too much." Draco sniffs. "Unlike you, Ginevra always acts appropriately. Unquestioningly."

"I noticed that," I whisper. "Ginny..."

She bites her lip and her gaze flickers toward Draco before it falls to the floor.

"Look, Ginevra, I don't give a damn if you talk to your Mudblood friend, it's not like she has anything of consequence to say to you. Just don't let her uselessness rub off on you," he says. "Good grief, Snape was going to duel my father for you, Mudblood. I don't have any idea what he sees in you."

"Why would he have to duel your father?"

"Because." Draco examined his fingernails, sounding nonchalant. "My father suggested that perhaps Snape was... incapable... of performing his duties, if you catch my drift. Snape didn't take that too well. But my father has a point. After all Snape's machinations to obtain you, I half-expected you'd already be fat with a mixed-blood bastard child."

Why would Snape work that hard to keep me, just to lock me up in a downstairs bedroom? If, as Draco says, he really wanted a whore, he could have simply Imperio'ed me. Perhaps it is out of guilt, knowing that he alone betrayed the Order. Or perhaps it is because I was the only student he seemed to stand.

Or perhaps, as Draco suggests and as all evidence points to, Snape really does hold some attraction toward me. If so, he has a strange way of showing it.

"What a tragedy that it hasn't yet occurred." I sneer.

He glares at me, removes his cloak, hands it to Ginny. "On second thought, I don't want you exposed to her smart mouth, Ginevra. Take my cloak and the contraceptives Snape brewed you back to the Manor and wait for me to return."

"Yes, Draco," she murmurs, and then, after hesitating a moment, "Good-bye, Hermione."

"Good-bye, Ginny."

She vanishes, leaving Draco and I facing one another like a pair of cats about to attack.

Draco makes the first move. He stalks toward the bedroom door, and I step in front of him to block him.

"Let me through, Granger."

"Just who do you think you are? This isn't your home. What do you need with an unconscious man?"

He takes one hand, pins me against the wall, and moves his head toward me ear so I can hear his lethal-soft whisper.

"I have every right. You are less than a servant." He leans back slightly. "You will serve me."

I jump at the sound of Professor Snape's bedroom door opening with a bang, walnut on wall panels. Snape stands in the doorway, his one good arm resting against the doorframe. I didn't realize his left was injured; yet another injury to add to the roster of future cures.

His eyes are flat and cold. His one good hand trembles slightly.

"Draco. Leave."

Draco leaps back from me, face burning, and skitters down the staircase. I stand awkwardly in the corridor, now feeling strangely exposed in my light shift. When I step toward him, he darts forward, showing surprising agility for a man who, just two hours before, was on the brink of death.

His one working arm pulls me into his bedroom sharply. I squeak in surprise, though it doesn't hurt, and he tosses me down onto the bed.

"What was he doing here?" Snape snarls, towering over me intimidatingly.

"Draco? I don't know."

I'm trembling. He's terrifying. He hasn't his shirt on, and his white skin is marred with a hundred awful scars. His pointy teeth poke out from under his lips in a feral expression.

"You're sleeping with him, aren't you? I should have known, my house's golden child..."

"What? No! Never," I reply.

His eyes are deep with anger. He's kneeling over me, hands clenched into tight, white fists.

"He will not have you," he hissed. "You belong to me."

"Professor, I wouldn't, I mean, you can't honestly believe..."

"Do not lie to me, dishonest slattern!"

He brings back his hand. I twist my head to the side, clench my jaw and eyelids shut, and wait for his hand to connect with my cheek. My heartbeat races, my skin feels sweaty. He's never physically hurt me...

The slap never comes. Tentatively I open my eyes. Professor Snape is just sitting there, kneeling over me, head down, eyes locked on his flat hand.

"I'm as bad..." His eyes have a haunted cast to them. They're wide, and I can see the whites around the coalblack irises. Despite his heavy body, his earlier anger, something about his expression reminds me of a guilty child.

I swallow and try to regain my voice. "Sir?"

He reaches two fingers toward my face, but pulls back before they touch my skin. Here, like this, there's no denying that this is entirely a man. His entire weight is seated upon my thighs. His thighs are hot, hot, against mine, and the coarse hair scratches against my smooth skin. I couldn't leave if I wanted to. I'm torn between trying to wriggle away and bolt, and trying to comfort him.

If I wriggle away, as if I'm frightened of him, the damage might never heal between us. I'm not going to leave. Maybe he'll be upset. Maybe he'll call me an idiot, or a foolish child, but it's worth _attempting_ to comfort him. He just looks so guilty.

I bring a hand to his face, cup one hollow cheek. The skin on my palm catches on the short stubble over his jawbone. He looks startled, eyes wide, lips parted. When he speaks, it's barely audible.

"What are you..." He clears his throat. "Where are your clothes? I had a dream you were in a wedding dress..."

"You were covered in blood and mud... and vomit," I whisper. "I got all dirty when I levitated you up here and took off the white robes."

He stares at me, waiting for me to speak this time, of my own volition.

"What happened? I thought you were dead, when I first found you."

My throat thickens with swallowed back tears - I'm angry that he could've left me alone, angry that he almost hit me, angry at the thought that I cared I much as I did, despite my resolve to act tough.

He brings his hands to mine, still cupping his face, draws them down, down, and lays them atop his bare chest. His own hands move up to my head, pulling at the coif that Loki worked so hard at earlier. I feel pins pulled out, curls springing free. My heartbeat quickens. I'm nervous. I don't know what to do, so I do nothing.

"I don't want you unhappy, Hermione," he leans forward.

His hands slide up my shirt, long fingers skimming my brassiere, fingers tracing through cotton padding. It takes him a minute to slide his fingers under it, find my skin beneath. Every touch is feather-light, like a museum curator examining a delicate sculpture.

I could push him away.

His breath is hot on my throat. I'm quiet, frozen where I lie.

I should push him away. I can see the bruises and scars all over his bare chest.

"I don't want you to fear me, Hermione," he whispers in my ear.

He kisses my neck and begins to unpeel my shirt. I don't protest.

---

A/N: This chapter was difficult to write, and I'm sure a lot of people find it uncomfortable to read, as I do. I tried to rewrite it more 'fluffily' but I couldn't make it work.  
Questions - Duj, I didn't mean to imply that she'd only lost 10 lbs - I just wanted to contrast her 'old' thoughts against her 'now' thoughts, but it's really too vague. Thanks for pointing it out.


	8. Chapter 8

AN: Forgive me, but real life has reared its very ugly head. I won't be at a computer for a couple of days, and I won't be in any mood to update for a few more days after that. Also note that I made an idiotic mistake and accidentally replaced chapter 6 with 7 yesterday. You may want to go back and read chapter 6 if you haven't already.

---

I lie awake in the bed. Snape - Professor Snape - finished, rolled off, caught his breath. I hadn't second guessed myself then - he'd kept one hand resting on my belly even as he turned away from me. Now that he's gone, I feel inexplicably, coldly lonely, and desperately wish to be back with my friends, back with Harry and Ginny and sweet, affable, predictable Ron who would've done anything for me, who loved me to my core

---

I sat in the Three Broomsticks, contemplating my supposedly nonexistant future with my best friends. For some reason, once I agreed to be the bait in our operation to capture Lucius Malfoy and Professor Snape agreed to rescue me before anything happened, I completely believed that I'd come to no harm.

Harry and Ginny had sulked about for a week. Professor McGonagall had excused me from classes so I could 'enjoy myself,' as she put it. Ron kept following me around every chance he could, asking if I wanted to die a virgin. The Headmaster asked if I wanted to do anything special before I went out as bait, and Ron, at the words 'do anything,' got this awfully hopeful expression, like a dog awaiting a biscuit.

Everyone but me seemed convinced that I was going to die. Thus, Ginny, Harry, Ron and I decided to drink away our worries at the Three Broomsticks.

Well, Harry, Ron and I were. Ginny was too young to drink alcohol, and had to pass on the cocktails of butterbeer and rum that we indulged in. Butterbeer cocktails were the drink of choice of Hogwarts teenagers. I personally found them too sticky-sweet, but it was almost a ritual. Technically, we weren't supposed to drink.

The only teacher that seemed to notice, and happily take points, was Professor Snape.

He swooped into the little pub, all black cape and dark glower, and went straight to work, alighting first on a group of Ravenclaws who were using their ties as handcuffs and leashes in a bizarre card game. Fifty points from them. Next onto a first year who managed to sneak out in a group of third years; forty points and all seven of them ordered back to school for detention with Filch.

"Oh, bloody hell," Ron muttered. "We're next up to Snape's axe. How many points do you bet he takes?"

"At least twenty," Ginny said

"I say fifty," Ron replied. "Plus one of his boring lectures."

"Probably give us detention," Harry sulked.

"Will you three be quiet? Honestly, you're no better than when you were eleven years old," I huffed. "He's quite intelligent, if you actually listened to him once in a while instead of acting like spoilt children."

"Aw, get off your soapbox, Hermione," Ron grumbled. "You know perfectly well that Snape hates Harry and I with..."

"Weasley. Potter. Miss Weasley. Miss Granger."

"Good afternoon, Sir," I said brightly.

The other three muttered halfhearted greetings and refused to meet his gaze.

"Miss Granger," he said. "Do try to stick with untainted butterbeer. I don't think I have enough hangover cures for all of your little friends."

I tried not to smile. I'd just brewed about fifty phials of it a few weeks ago, and unless the Slytherins had tried that Bacchus spell on the school's water supply again, I doubted that we'd run out.

"Yes, Sir," I replied, sipping at my glass.

He moved aside to sit with McGonagall and Vector in the corner.

"I was certain he would assign us an evening with Filch," Ginny said.

"Hmph." Ron frowned. "He wouldn't do that to his favourite know-it-all."

I watched him carefully. His face was red, and he glared daggers over at Professor Snape. It was then I realized why he hated the Profesor so much; I thought it was a holdover from childhood, but now I recognized it asjealousy. Strange, since we'd mutually agreed to break up only a few weeks earlier.

I wanted to shout at him that he was being foolish; Professor Snape was twice my age, a former Death Eater, frightening as hell, and who found my company acceptable only because I knew how to shred boomslang properly.

"Are you two ready to go? I thought I might stop by the bookstore before we head back to school."

"I have almost a full bottle to go." Ginny grinned. "Patience, Hermione. We have all evening."

It was about five minutes later when I felt Ron's toes slide up my chair and poke sharply into my inner thigh. I leapt backward in my chair, and his smirk vanished.

"Christ, Ron, what do you think you're doing?" I squealed.

I felt someone watching me, and when I glanced out the corner of my eye, I noticed that Professor Snape looked on the interchange between my ex-boyfriend and myself.

"Ron. We're friends. We aren't anything more. We're not going to be anything more, and having your boot kicking between my legs simply cemented that fact."

"Oh, Ron, you really are clueless sometimes." Ginny winced. "That's not a smooth move."

Ron's face flushed, and he looked a bit sheepish.

Harry snickered. "Ronald Weasley, the man who proves that romance is not dead."

"Okay, okay, quiet, both of you. Look, I'm sorry, I'll try to think a bit more before I act."

"Right, Ron." Ginny chuckled. "We'll see how long that lasts."

I shook my head, not really angry with him, before finishing up the last of my drink.

"I think I'm going to return to school."

"But Hermione, you only have a couple of weeks before you're off on... the... mission thing. Don't you want to spend time with us?"

"I do, Harry." I reached out and squeezed his hand. "But not like this, not out in public shouting at you over a noisy pub crowd. I'd rather just be myself, keep studying with you three in my room eating biscuits and drinking things that'll eventually rot my teeth while I lecture you, knowing perfectly well that it'll do no good."

He nodded. "I understand. C'mon, Ginny, hurry up and finish your butterbeer so we can walk her back..."

"Nah, Gin, don't bother." Ron winked. "I'll see the lady back to her humble abode. C'mon, Hermione, it's dark, wouldn't want you walking alone."

I smiled and let him drag me out of the pub.

We hadn't even gone six feet when he began pawing at me again, like a bear at a fisherman's campsite. Clumsy and awkward and leaving me with the urge to hit him with a tranquilizer dart. He kept pushing me toward the wall, and the stone and grout was really scratching my arm. I wondered, absently, why he'd bothered breaking up with me in the first place.

"Ron, give up already."

He pulled back, looking terribly serious. "You don't want to die a virgin, do you?"

"I think what you meant to say is, 'Hermione, you don't want me to die a virgin, do you?' Contrary to what you may think, I'm not writhing with built-up tension, hoping desperately that any random male will throw themselves at me."

"You know that's not what I think." He rubbed his hands over my upper arms. "You know I think you're pretty. I'm your friend. You know I'd never try to hurt you, I wouldn't tell anyone. I just thought, if I were in your place, I'd want to experience everything if there was a chance I might die. I didn't mean anything by it."

"I know, Ron," I whispered, putting my face in his shoulder.

He gave me a kiss on the cheek. "Are you sure?"

"I..."

"Oh, look what we have here. Two lovebirds sucking at one another drunkenly in the dark."

I jumped. Professor Snape. He looked angry. The Professor steepled his fingers and glared at Ron.

"Mister Weasley. Ten points for drinking, and another ten for forcing me to watch your attempt at seduction against a granite wall." He glared at me now. "Miss Granger, I expected better of you. Detention tonight. Both of you. Follow me, back to the school now."

Ron ended up dusting all of the portrait frames with a paintbrush whereas Professor Snape, in one of his more genteel moments, allowed me to chop three pounds of daisy root instead.

After three hours under Snape's disdainful supervision, shagging Ron seemed like even less of a bright idea.

---

I think I should leave. I start to slide out of the bed, horrified when I see three droplets of blood on the bed linens. I freeze. It's in that moment that Snape returns. What will he do? I don't know. Probably throw me out. He isn't kind, most of the time, has a temper. He's unpredictable, and that's the worst. I can still feel where his hands slid down me, where fingers caught on ribs and pelvis bones...

But no, he just settles into the bed beside me, letting me half-sit, half-lie on the other side, not facing him. He stays quiet for a minute.

"You're too thin."

I turn to him. How could he say that to me? I know I'm bony, even though I've started gaining again - am I really that disgusting that this is all he can think of at a moment like this? How can he always, always find a soft spot to wound?

I notice that he's poured himself a drink, though I don't know when he found the time.

He sounds like his mouth is filled with marbles as he speaks. "I think you lovely at times. I want you to eat more."

I swallow. I'm not lovely. Does he really think so? Why should it matter to me?

"Say something," he finally says. "Even if it is only to insult me."

I swallow again, lick my lips, and start to speak, uncertainly. I ache. I'm filthy. My body feels as if there's electricity buzzing through it. What can I say? Some logical part in my mind tells me I should hate him - he's unpredictable. He's keeping me captive.

But I don't hate him. I like him like this, kind of docile, sleepy. Predictable. He looks like he's almost afraid of me.

"I..." My voice sounds rusty, and I clear my throat, struggling to think of something normal to say, something that won't send him running. "I don't like eating by myself in the corner of the room. I mean - it seems strange, sitting there on the bed, nibbling at whatever Loki happens to bring. Eating is supposed to be social. At Hogwarts home I always had comfort food..."

"Comfort food?" His tone is derisive.

I blush and turn my face downward. His hand settles on my shoulder, and I can't help but let out a contented whimper when he tentatively, tentatively begins digging his thumb into the button of bone jutting out from the corner of my shoulder, working into the knot of tense muscle. When I turn to see his reaction, he has a half-smile playing at his lips. I blush, and that gut-clenching sick feeling subsides, just a bit.

"What sorts of comfort food?" he asks.

"Well," I admit, "What I'd really love is flapjack. Caramelly, buttery flapjack... chewy, made out of oats... you know?"

He nods. Silence. He sits there for a minute, just letting his hand rub my arm. I'm not even sure he realizes what he's doing.

"Do you want me to leave?" I ask.

"Do you want to leave?"

There's a hint of uncertainty in his voice. I catch the near-uncatchable quiver on the _you_.

"I don't know what I want." I look down. "I'm achy and cold."

I feel lonely, empty and dirty; not surprising, I suppose, since I've just lost my virginity in my Professor's bed. Draco suggested it was an order from the Dark Lord, though I can't imagine why a random prisoner would be important to a wizard who now controls Britain.

I'm thinking too hard. He thinks me pretty. He won't hurt me. _He _doesn't even know what he wants.

He lies down on the left side of the bed. After a minute of me sitting on the right side in uncertainty, he slides one arm around my shoulder, pulls, very gently, until I lie down beside him. A few minutes later I hear his breathing slow, metronome rhythm. As he falls asleep, he loops one arm around my waist.

I lie there, staring at the dark wood floor panels and the wide window for a good hour until I realize that I'm not going to get any sleep. Neither do I want to leave, and wake - what do I call him now? Professor? That's just wrong, somehow. Besides, on some level, I like being wrapped in this thick satin blanket, with the warmth of another person beside me. I haven't realized until now just how desperately lonely I've been.

"Loki," I whisper.

He pops into the room. "Missy? Oh, Missy has pleased Master... I know..."

"Shh, Loki," I whisper. "You'll wake him, he's still ill. Can you please bring me a Sleeping Draught?"

"Yes, yes, yes Missy... of course, Mistress..."

He reappears a few seconds later, leaving the phial on the night stand. I swallow it on one go, but as the potion takes effect, I realize that I've awakened him. He runs a hand over my hair, laces two arms around me - oh, but he thinks I'm asleep now, the potion's acting slowly upon me.

"Mmm, Hermione," he murmurs. "What have I done?"

I would reassure him - why do I feel this sudden need to reassure him, make him feel better? I want to comfort him with sweet words, want desperately to rid him of his guilt, but the potion is already dulling my mind, and all I can do is nestle into his belly and chest, yawn and fall asleep.

I blink. It's dim - clouds cover the sky outside again, and I can see smudgy rainclouds on the horizon. After a minute, I realize I'm not alone. Something clatters from across the room. Professor Snape, dropping a comb onto the top of his walnut dresser. His hand shakes - the afereffects of whatever he was exposed to? He seems to have healed himself well enough. Worry flickers through me, though I know he must've had to heal himself plenty of times without me to help.

My worry vanishes when he begins to speak. His voice is as strong, controlled and clipped, as always.

"Miss Granger."

I flinch, and he sees it reflected in the mirror.

"Hermione," he says. "We need to discuss... this."

What is there to discuss? I can imagine, from his shuttered eyes, his hooded expression, the way he is standing at one end of the room, fully clothed, while I lie in the bed in a state of dishabille, awaiting his judgement.

"I assure you that this will not happen again."

"Why?" I ask.

I have to know his reasoning.

"It was not appropriate. You were already feeling threatened by me. I did not give you an opportunity to voice your desires before I pushed you into... this situation."

I think about it. He's right, in a way - I had been afraid, and I'd felt sorry for him in some ways, and I just wanted him to feel better. I hadn't really done anything but lie there. He'd peeled off my clothes, and any marginal curiosity, enthusiasm I'd had at the beginning vanished with the pain, like a deep, hard pinch, when he'd breached me. My mind had wandered from the discomfort and the disbelief. I'd thought of my friends. I'd thought of school.

I hadn't thought of him.

"It wasn't supposed to be this way, Hermione," he murmurs. "And I apologize."

"Don't apologize, please," I feel my eyes growing misty, though I don't know why, exactly. "I just want you to feel better..."

He stalks over, kneels next to me, and in a gesture wholly at odds with his character, takes my hand. "You have, in many ways. Do not doubt it." He pauses. "No matter how bitter I have made you over the past few months, you are still the same - still trying to please others, when you should consider yourself."

I hang my head, not sure what to say to that. It feels as if he's trying to say more than he really is, as if there's an undercurrent to his words that I haven't caught. He drops my hand and tightens the lacings on his robe.

"I assume you will feel some discomfort this morning," he says matter-of-factly. "There is a healing potion upon the nightstand as well as a contraceptive."

I nod, but can't help but flinch at the cool, clinical tone.

"Hermione," he says, softer. "I will be in my office for my morning meal. I have a week to recuperate here... perhaps I will see you later."

With that cryptic message, he billows out the door, slamming it behind him as he leaves.

I drink the potions. They taste like candy, which I'm grateful for. My stomach roils from the taste and the stress and the emotions coursing through me. I want desperately to be at home, wrapped in a big fat blanket with a cup of soup and something mindless and familiar and positively ancient on the telly, like old BBC comedies.

"Oh, Mistress, why is Master being sad?" Loki suddenly crawls up on the bed, startling me. "Master was being happy, happy before. He dreams nice dreams... has arms around Mistress like big dolly."

I snort involuntarily at the thought of Professor Snape needing a doll to comfort him at night, and Loki glares.

"Is true!" he huffs. "Now he being sad, sit at table staring, staring into coffee cup. Go be fixing him!"

"He doesn't want me to fix him, Loki. He needs to fix himself."

Loki drags a dress out from beside the bed - ah, yellow today, goldenrod yellow with fat ribbon ties at the elbows, the sorts of frippery that make it awkward to eat soup, write, paint or garden.

I pad out from under the covers, and as he did before, he magicks away my old clothing - a set of underwear lying on the ground, nothing more - and slides the gown over my head. This time he ties it properly, no choking or cutting off arteries, and then cajoles me into sitting on the edge of the bed so he can weave my hair into a messy plait.

"But Master says he wants Mistress to be joining him, does he not? I be hearing him say something about morning meal, and seeing him later..."

"Well, why wouldn't he just ask me, 'Hermione, would you like to join me for breakfast?' That would be infinitely more direct."

"But what if Mistress be not wanting to be joining Master? What if Mistress be angry? What if Mistress be wanting to kick Master, like Master be thinking she does? Then Mistress be turning down Master, which be making Master sad. Or worse, Mistress tell lies and pretend to like Master's company, when really she be hating him."

"Oh, I don't hate him," I reply slowly. "He's really not one for directness, is he? I suppose I'll go see him. Maybe he'll be willing to talk with me..."

Loki beams. "Master be asking Loki for something nice, something Mistress will be liking..."

Before I can ask what he's on about this time, Loki snaps his fingers. I feel ribbons threaded through my hair, feel socks appear on my legs and a belt round my middle. With that, Loki vanishes, leaving me to amble on my own to the office at the bottom of the staircase

"Professor?"

I stick my head in. His office is warm, pale gold-orange with candlelight, and even his sallow skin looks healthy under the glow. Breakfast is on the corner table - obviously he expected me to join him.

"Hermione."

"May I join you?"

He nods sharply, continuing to butter his scone with precision. I look over the table - there's a plate of flapjack there, plain flapjack cut into big blocks. It's still warm from the oven. When I bite in, it's buttery and sugary and heavy and just like kitchen food, motherly food, reminding me of meals around the well-scrubbed blue table back home.

I sniffle.

"Oh, what is it now?" he snaps.

"It just reminds me of home."

I slide my chair back, feeling stupid for becoming sniffly and emotional around him.

"I'll go," I say. "I should've left you to eat in peace."

He catches my hand, pulls me back. When I look at him, the plea is there, unspoken, in his eyes, and I sit back down to watch him as he eats. He shifts under my gaze, looking horribly awkward. He opens his mouth, hangs his head, and begins speaking, as if confessing to a priest.

"My parents were killed by a Death Eater as well, so I know how moments can come upon you suddenly," he says haltingly. "It was one of my reasons for joining Dumbledore."

I know not to press him for more information. I reach for more food.

"You know, I wish we could discuss things like we used to."

His lips curl up at the edges in a half-smile. He looks odd when he smiles, with all the angles on his face, and I can tell why he might not do it often. It seems profoundly intimate, knowing that I'm one of the few that's seen it.

"If there's anything else you wish for your meals, you may tell Loki. He will procure it for you."

I nod, pour myself some milky tea and pick at a few grapes and nibble at a honey-smeared scone.

"I think," I say as I finish what's on my plate, "That I'll go to the library today. Would you care to join me?"

"I imagine you would interrupt my reading every few minutes to ask me about my book."

The rejection of my olive branch stings less than I expected.

I shrug. "I don't know where you got such an idea, but if you want to read alone, I certainly won't protest. I suppose I'll see you later."

I stack my plates, brush off my skirt, and move to the door.


	9. Chapter 9

AN: Happy New Year. I've read all the reviews - thank you to all who took the time, as always! I'll try to work in the formatting suggestions starting with the next chapter. Please add in your suggestions or predictions, as I'm still trying to write the concluding chapter.

---

Snape's office is only a few steps from the library. He tends to read in his office, so I know I won't bother him when I stay in the library. It's a tiny room, the book collection is small, and many of the shelves lie empty. I assume some past Snape sold off the books to pay off the debts Loki once mentioned.

The green carpets are frayed along the edges. Dusty velour drapes hang over sliver-thin windows, blotting out any light. I always open them for the light as soon as I come in. The dark books are shelved near the ceiling. Now that I'm really looking closely at the lower shelves, I notice children's books neatly arranged at a child's height. I'm torn between laughing and crying at some of the titles - The Very Bad Muggle? No Pants for Me? The Life of the Savage?

"I certainly didn't pick them."

I jump, then smile nervously at Professor Snape - should I call him that? - standing in the doorway.

"Did you read them when you were younger?" I ask.

"Of course," he replies. "Every child in my family has, I'm sure, for the past half-dozen generations."

I purse my lips. Is he still indoctrinated with such ideas? I look down at the cover of No Pants for Me, a book-cover showing a pair of pale wizard children laughing at a pair of bow-backed Muggles in rawhide pant and shirt sets.

"Do you believe it?" I ask, quieter this time.

"Don't be foolish."

"You must've at one time," I say. "I mean, just as I once thought witches had green skin and warts..."

He snorts derisively.

"Never mind."

I sigh. We'll never be able to have a conversation. Even _this_ is too intimate for him to handle.

"Until relatively recently, I found my preconceptions, for the most part, still held," he tells me slowly. "But my opinions of Muggleborns have changed."

"Why?"

He shrugs, and doesn't offer a reason. I suspect I already know.

I slide the book back onto the shelf, keeping my eyes on the spines, trying to spot something distracting to read. At the same time, I try to extend our conversation, knowing that any discussion with him is a rarity.

"Most of the Dark Lord's followers agree with it," I say. "You're definitely in the minority. Purebloods despise witches like me."

I finally turn, making eye contact and moving just a few inches closer to him. He still stands languorously beside the door, watching me as he pours himself a drink from a glass decanter on the table.

"What happens when you get married? I'm sure along the way you'll want a dog, and a wife, and children, and the lot. I highly doubt any future Madam Snape will be particularly impressed by the thought of sharing the place with a faithful Mudblood."

I sound awfully bitter to my own ears.

He narrows his eyes at me and takes a drink. "Do not call yourself that."

"Why not? It's a very real possibility. You won't want to stay alone here for the rest of your life."

He steps closer to me, so there's one foot between us. His black eyes look almost soft. If it were someone kinder, someone I understood, I'd dare to call the look affection.

"I'm not alone, am I, Hermione?"

His voice sounds thick and warm, like honey in July. I blink, holding a book against my chest, not even noticing what I've grabbed.

"Hermione..." his voice is low; he turns his head down to the carpet.

Loki appears, cutting off what Professor Snape was about to declare.

"What is it, you infernal creature?" he shouts.

I jump at the sudden change, and he lets out a frustrated growl in my direction.

"Loki sorry, sorry, sorry, but Misters Malfoy both is here again, they says the Great Lord sends them to be talking. Loki sorry..."

He sounds so sad. It's not his fault that Lucius Malfoy seems to be Voldemort's messenger boy.

"It's all right, Loki." I scratch his ears, and he lets out a trill, not unlike Crooks' soft purr.

My eyes grow wet. Poor Crooks - last time I saw him, he lay under my window, sunning himself and yawning. I doubt I'll ever know what happened to him.

"You cannot..." Snape looks at me and sighs deeply. "You must look docile and obedient, Hermione. You must not look up - you must not respond to Lucius or Draco. They must think they have interrupted us. They must think I'm still ill, and that I require your - attention. They would never understand why I would spend time with you other than..."

I nod mutely and pull the ribbons from my hair. He doesn't finish his sentence, just watches me. My curls stick out in every direction, a few falling awkwardly over my eyes, and I impatiently try to flick it away as I work at a particularly stubborn ribbon.

He steps closer to me, tentatively brushes my hair back so he can unlace just the first few grommets on my robe, and I fall still. Like last night, he's unnaturally gentle. The feather-light touches at my throat remind me of the way he handles fragile ingredients in the lab.

After inwardly debating a minute, I reach my hands up to his throat and unbutton the collar on his shirt. I expect him to push me back, tell me he's capable of doing it himself, but he doesn't, just nods in silent gratitude.

"Here, lie on the sofa, then you can look like you have no energy and are still awfully distressed from your illness," I say.

He complies. I move to top up his drink. As I pour from the liquor decanter, the doors fling open, to reveal both Malfoy Senior and Junior, in their full glory. They sashay in, dressed in fine linens and silks in russet and emerald, and seat themselves across the library without a word

It takes all my concentration not to drop the glass. I keep pouring, then once the glass is topped up, freeze, eyes downcast, arms folded around myself.

Lucius laughs. "We've interrupted his leisure time once again."

"Hmph," Draco grunts, sounding suspicious.

"You always seem to appear at the most inopportune times, Lucius, Draco," Severus grumbles from the sofa.

"Is it my fault you seem to be making up for lost time with your new toy?" Lucius smirks. "Give her an order, she looks like a rabbit in the path of a broomstick, standing there."

"Come here," Snape barks.

I move to his side, then, after thinking about it a moment, kneel in front of the sofa so that I'm sitting lower than he is.

"And I thought you said he hadn't trained her properly, Draco," Lucius says. "She seems obedient enough. Look, she even fetched him a drink. Drink up, Severus, I know you have a fondness for noon drunkenness."

From Malfoy's tone, I know it's a jibe to put Professor Snape in his place. A snide little reminder about their relative positions. I've never seen Snape drunk at noon, but even if he got snackered at every given opportunity, it wouldn't matter. At this moment, I realize that I loathe both Malfoys with a hatred as pure as quartz crystal. Given the opportunity, I wouldn't hesitate to use an Unforgivable on them, and the knowledge that not only that I _would_, but that I _could_ frightens me.

"Get your pet to do something useful, or I'll put her to work on Draco..." Lucius's cool tone snaps me from my thoughts.

I look up at Professor Snape. Lucius and Draco can't see my panicked expression, but Snape does. He reaches around my neck and pulls my face upward, closer to his. From Draco and Lucius's angle, it looks as if he's biting me or pinching me behind my curtain of hair, and I let out a startled squeak. Really, he's just whispering in my ear, but Lucius laughs at my feigned injury.

"Just sit beside me and do as I say," he whispers. He grabs a tube of healing salve from somewhere inside the nearby desk and throws it into my lap.

"Get up here and put this on me," he barks.

He rolls up his white shirt-sleeves and I kneel beside him, focusing intently on the cuts and bruises marring his skin. I pretend not to hear their conversation.

"Bella is jealous that your pet is protected," Lucius says. "She asks for her own, but Rodolphus protested."

"If I had a wife, I would not want to keep her, Lucius."

"Ah, if you had a wife, you would want to keep her even more." Lucius chortles. "Believe me, I speak from experience. Look at Draco. Do you think I would rid him of his plaything simply because Parkinson is marrying him? That would be foolish, to take away his small pleasures. Either way, Bella's temper is why I came. I thought perhaps your injuries would be more severe. Then again, you always had a knack for... turning situations to your advantage, didn't you, Severus?"

"My _pet_ is decent enough with healing potions."

"You can trust her not to poison you? You must have her exceptionally well trained... or else you're quite foolish, Severus. But you've never been a fool. You chose the winning side, after all." Lucius pauses. "Remember well that a woman's place is in your bed for an hour, but her own for the rest of the night. Men who don't ward their doors at night don't wake up in the morning."

"Your advice, I'm certain, is well meant, but I would prefer if you allowed me to worry about such things, Lucius." Severus sneers, and Lucius's face pinches.

Snape downs the drink. He shoves the empty glass into my hand. I refill it without being asked.

"Don't you put her to any better use than as your own little nurse and waitress?" Draco sneers.

"Your jealousy is all too apparent, Mister Malfoy. You still haven't learned any subtlety," Severus snaps back, drinking more liquor and wrapping one arm around my ribcage, yanking me closer as I keep banishing away his little bruises and cuts.

"I shall tell the Dark Lord that you will be indisposed for a few days," Lucius says, voice sharp, "But he will expect you at the Swansea raid, and will certainly wish you to join him in Brighton for the celebration."

"I'm aware of my obligations, Lucius, though it is quite kind of you to make the trip to _remind _me," he replies, shifting around, letting his eyes flicker down my half-open robe before glaring meaningfully back at Lucius and Draco.

"Well, we should leave," Lucius cooes. "Let us return home, Draco, we've found out what we wish to know..."

"But Father..."

"Draco, it's time to leave."

"Yes, Father."

Draco glares at me before him and his father stalk out the door. I smile with relief and open my mouth to speak. Professor Snape places one finger over my mouth to silence me before leaning in once again to whisper in my ear.

"They are waiting outside the door, using some sort of spell to spy on us."

His breath smells sweet, like liquor and the syrup he had on his breakfast.

"Lucius didn't come here to give me instructions, he hopes to find evidence that I'm not _entirely _loyal. As always." He sighs. "Can't you feel the spell they've cast?"

No, I can't. I can see Draco, blatant idiot that he is, through the crack in the door, peering in at us with watery grey eyes, mouth open, nearly salivating at the peep-show. He reminds me of a dead fish.

I give Draco what he wants. I lean in and curl my arms around the Snape's middle. He yanks me onto his lap and shoves his half-empty glass into my hands. I eye it for a moment before taking a tiny, tiny sip. His fingers work into my spine, and I wonder if it's for the benefit of the two Malfoys, or whether it's for himself. He starts unlacing my bodice, but I don't really care - I run my hands over his hair, as if he were ike a cat, as he pulls down the shoulders on my robe.

My back is turned to the Malfoys. They'll see nothing but my spine, and Snape saw me in dishabille just last night.

He wriggles off the gown, leaving me in just my slip. After glancing at the pool of yellow fabric on the ground, he surveys me, my bare shoulders, bare arms, cotton-clad chest and hips and legs. He smiles, a small, reassuring smile, and after looking toward the door, presses a kiss to my shoulder. I keep brushing at his hair. The sunshine highlights the road-map of scars and cuts mottling his skin.

"You're all hurt," I whisper, tracing my finger between the wounds like a macabre connect the dots.

He sucks on my shoulder. I look backwards - Draco and Lucius are gone.

"The Malfoys left."

"Mmm," he grumbles against my skin. "If they had been there still, I would not be behaving as I am now, my dear."

He sucks hard enough that I'm sure there'll be a mark on my shoulder. He starts pulling up my slip before he stops and draws back, stares at me. I'm perched on his lap. He wants me; I can feel it, I can see it in his eyes.

"Push me away," he says, breath short. "Now, do it now, before I try to... try to..."

His eyes are round, black, almost childish when he's in this mood. He doesn't look like the same person. Why do I feel almost-protective?

I can't push him away. I don't encourage him, either, just sit there, letting him decide. He loops his arms around me and pulls me closer.

"Good," he mumbles into my hair. "Good."

---

The Order kept watch whenever Professor Snape went out on missions or whenever Remus transformed. I volunteered when Professor Snape went out. I liked to keep watch on my would-be mentor, make sure someone reliable waited for him when he returned from the revels.

He didn't like me waiting for him. He shouted at me, especially when he returned still twitching from a bout of Crucio. He took out all his frustration on me until Professor McGonagall or the Headmaster would silence him and send for Molly Weasley, who, though she could do nothing for the twitches, had a motherliness that even Professor Snape was defenseless against.

Every time, when the night was over, he would come to me to stiffly ask for assistance in the lab; perhaps it was the closest he could come to an apology.

I always accepted. I had a hope that after school finished, we might become friends and that the silent wall remained only because he was the Professor and I was the student.

I neverconsidered the possibility that I might not finish my schooling.

He came back, that last time, utterly spent. I was the one to find him crawling across the front lawn just after midnight, his robes masking the seriousness of his injuries.

"Professor," I whispered as he crawled up the stairs. "Are you all right?"

He recoiled when he realized it was me, just as he always did.

"Get back to your room, you imbecile, and get Madam Pomfrey." He winced as a shudder overtook him. "Just fetch the old bag."

I licked my lips. "I need to get you inside first, it's near freezing out here."

"Do as I say you stupid child!" he bellowed. "I am not playing some foolish game with you, get away from me and follow my commands!"

I knelt down beside him and touched his hand. "Here, use my shoulder for support."

"Stupid child," he hissed. "You disgust me, do you realize that? Were it not for my physical state, you would not even consider disobeying me."

I nodded passively as his fingers clutched my shoulder, his entire weight resting against my frame as he hobbled through the door, insulting me and hissing at me and swearing the entire way to the sofa. On some level I knew that he was angry at me seeing him like this. He didn't really mean his insults, though they still managed to cut deeply.

"Find someone else to bestow your pity on," he growled. "I will not have you simpering over me like some wayward house-elf just so you may feel better about yourself, you arrogant little know-it-all."

He never called me a Mudblood; a know-it-all, imbecile, stupid child, irritating girl, but never, ever Mudblood, even now as he shook and shuddered with Crucio and blossomed violet with bruises.

"I don't pity you," I snapped back. "I fear for your safety, but not pity."

"Moronic doublespeak," he hissed. "People like you get themselves killed, Miss Granger, and manage to kill others with your so-called good intentions. I loathe the day that you got your letter."

That one hit the mark, and I turned to keep him from seeing me flinch. With a sideways shrug, I left the room to inform the Headmaster of Professor Snape's return.

"He's back," I called into the darkened bedroom, knowing from experience that Dumbledore never seemed to sleep.

"Excellent, excellent," Dumbledore murmured softly, rolling out of bed and padding, a silhouette of a nightshirt and cap, to the door.

"He's in a truly awful mood," I said. "You should be warned."

"I'd prefer if you didn't stay and listen to his usual hatefulness, Miss Granger, you've done enough as it is." Dumbledore paused. "Besides, it does him no good to let you see him like this, his mood only darkens. Have a rest, my dear, when he's healed, I'll rouse you."

I nodded and ambled to my bedroom at Order headquarters, but found it impossible to sleep. I couldn't concentrate on my books, either, and eventually settled on sipping at a glass of water and staring at the ceiling in the dark.

"My dear." I heard Dumbledore's familiar voice speaking to me. "He's a bit better physically, if you just want to look through the door at him. I'm afraid he's still in an unpleasant mood, but I know you won't rest until you see him for yourself."

I nodded from the bed, rolled out, and tiptoed over to the bedroom they'd settled Professor Snape within. Everyone else had abandoned him, probably to get away from his sour temperament, and his eyes were closed. I thought, for a moment, that he'd fallen asleep, and watched him as he just lay in bed, wondering how anyone could look so unhappy when they were dreaming.

"If you're going to stand there gaping, shut the bloody door, Miss Granger," he snapped suddenly.

I slammed it in surprise, my reflex action being to automatically do as he ordered.

"Come to be entertained by the old Death Eater, Miss Granger?" His voice was silky, but his words were cutting. "Perhaps you like to see me like this, like to see me weakened, is that it, Miss Granger? Some sort of roundabout form of revenge for all the cauldron scrubbing and daisy chopping?"

"Of course not!"

"Or is it pity?" His eyes got a cool glint in them. "Look closely, Miss Granger, and do not pity me overmuch. I am now what you will be."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Don't you understand, you foolish girl?" he hissed. "You whimper and sniffle when you see me merely bruised and cut. By the time Lucius is finished with you, you will wish you had a dagger, so you could cut your own wrists..."

"I know what I'm getting into," I told him.

"You have no clue," he said. "You haven't any comprehension of what evil he possesses."

"As much as you may deny it, I am an adult. Anything that happens to me will be my fault, Sir. I've made my decision, and I will live with the consequences."

His eyes took on a strange, expressionless cast, and for a moment I swore he smiled to himself.

"Very well then." He gestured to the door. "Get out."

I nodded, head held high, and shut the door softly behind me.

---

He's lying on me, wearing just a cotton shirt, wide open, mother of pearl buttons unfastened. He unfastened them. I don't take off his clothing. He unfastens his clothes, and mine. When did I become so passive?

He looks like he's trying to catch his breath, unsuccessfully. his hands are fanned delicately over my breasts. His skin is pearl-white, scrawled with the markings of violence. I don't touch them. Just placed my hands on his sides for balance as he rocked over me, his breaths gasping out, into my ears, in an unsteady rhythm.

He watches me, watches me, with that same half-afraid expression he had before.

"Hermione?"

I look back at him, not certain what he's asking.

"Hermione..." he says. "You're always so quiet. Can you say nothing for yourself anymore?"

I shift one leg where he's cutting off the blood. I ache again.

"I thought it only hurt the first time," I say.

My voice sounds terribly matter-of-fact, terribly clinical.

He blenches. His face turns a horrible ashen grey, and he backs away from me. He says nothing more, just snatches up his clothing and runs out the library door. I lie there for a moment. How many times had I wished, back at school, that I could elicit some reaction, _any_ reaction from him? Now I just feel sick with guilt and wish I had a time turner to take it back.

I feel so old, so tired.

"Loki?" I call out his name as I slide on my robe.

"Yes, Mistress?"

He looks so hopeful.

"Sleeping potion, if you wouldn't mind."

Loki's ears fall in disappointment. "Yes, Mistress."

I shuffle back to my room, down the potion, and settle into my bed for a forced rest.

---


	10. Chapter 10

AN: Two chapters left, I anticipate. University spring term begins tomorrow, so don't expect an update for a couple of days - sorry about that:-) I hope you'll stick around til the end, maybe leave me a couple of encouraging reviews.

---

I haven't seen Snape in five days. I know he's around. Once I heard him trip in the corridor and swear loudly before running off to hide from me. Twice I've heard him shouting at Loki, absolutely roaring for some small detail Loki's forgotten. 

Loki's opinion of me has turned 180 degrees. I'm no longer dirty Missy Mudblood, but the person he comes to for sympathy when Snape's left him ready to beat himself with a broom handle. 

"Many peoples be asking Loki about Mistress Hermione, they does!" Loki chatters as we walk outdoors. "But Loki be keeping his lips so tight, so tight! Loki no be telling secrets! Not when Mistress be saving the Master, not when Mistress being so nice to Loki."

"Who would ask about me?"

"Oh, Misters Malfoy, Missy with the red hair, Master's sister, many peoples! Missy Mistress be so popular!"

Patchy sunlight hits the ground through a smattering of gray clouds. The air's warm,with that touch of early-spring humidity, and the apple trees near the back of the property have just begun to bud. I reach down to touch one of the wilted irises. It crumbles beneath my fingers like old parchment - it's sat out here throughout the dry winter, forgotten about, dessicating. 

Have two seasons really passed? 

"Oh, Master be calling for Loki again." Loki's ears droop. "Loki not leave for long."

"It's all right, I'm just tidying out here for a few hours."

I've worked on the stone fountain for days now. It gives me something to do, something to concentrate on, while Snape stays in the house and broods. 

I know I should go to him and say _something. _I just don't know _what. _

I've cleaned nearly all the algae off the fountain. I have to charm it off in patches, especially on the delicate stonework, where more imprecise charms might rip off a granite coil, a snake's tongue, a carved leaf. The plumbing took more work, but after a flash of inspiration, I've managed to clear out most of the junk filling the pipes. I charmed and transfigured a metal bug to dig through all the old leaves and algae clogging the pipe. It looked like an impossible job when I began.

It's finished. I tap it once with my wand, and the water arcs upward, splashes down, into the basin below. It's clear and cold. The fountain looks out of place amongst the dry flower beds and unpruned trees. 

"You made the fountain work again?"

I jump at Ginny's voice. She stands in the open entrance doors, watching me with a blank expression. She's plainer today, hair down, dressed in a brown robe. She looks like herself. 

"Ginny? Why are you here?"

She looks down, the momentary tremble in her hands revealing her nervousness.

"I shouldn't have bothered you, I'll leave."

Isn't that what I'd just said to Professor Snape two weeks ago, when I was uncertain and scared? I move forward and reach for her wrist, very gently. 

"Ginny, don't go." I hesitate. "Please?"

She stands awkwardly before me. Her eyes shine with unshed tears - my fault. I've hurt her.

"Oh, Ginny, I'm so, so sorry for the things I said." She probably won't forgive me, but I have to try. "I don't know what to say. I shouldn't have said what I said, Ginny."

"No, you were right, in a way..."

"No, I wasn't," I interrupt. "I was all wrong. Don't you see, Ginny? It's not your fault, it's not my fault. We're the victims of circumstance. Maybe it's better that you've found..."

"Draco's getting married in a month." Ginny says coolly. "But I have the _honour _of remaining within the household."

What can I say? Nothing. Despite her bitter tone, she loves Draco. Every movement she makes around him exudes devotion. He'll use her and manipulate her emotions and then leave her in the basement whilst he plays husband to Pansy upstairs. 

"Oh, Ginny..."

"In fact, I get a new friend, since Pansy Parkinson is bringing along her own _plaything_ to join the household. Anthony Goldstein. He was kind enough, I suppose, when we were in school..."

"Oh, Ginny, Ginny..." 

I curl my arms around her, knowing she might push me away. I deserve to be pushed away for all the awful things I said to her. She nestles her face into the crook of my shoulder and starts to sob, loudly, messily. My neck is wet from her tears. Her body shakes hard against mine. 

I slide my arm around her - I don't want her crying out here. She lets me lead her through the corridors, past the covered portraits. We pass by Snape's office. Draco is there, not Lucius, and he and the Professor are deep in conversation. Snape's eyes flicker toward me, then to Ginny, crumpled beneath my arm. 

I realize this is the first time I've seen Snape since he fled the library. Purple bags ring his black eyes. His skin is sallow. His hair hangs limp with grease. His teeth look yellow. 

Ginny hiccups, and I turn my attention back to her . I place my arm around her shoulder and lead her into my bedroom. It's messy - there are books on the floor, parchments scribbled with notes. Thank God Loki gets rid of my old dishes for me, or I'd have old teacups and saucers littering every corner. A dozen robes sit in the corner in a pile, awaiting laundry spells. I blush. 

"It's a bit messy..."

I flip out my wand, and with a charm, everything is organized into piles. 

"You have a _wand?_" Ginny breathes. 

"Er... yes?"

"The Muggle Acts - Snape helped _write_ the Muggle Acts - forbid anyone but free Purebloods from holding wands, Hermione. Snape knows that you have that?"

"He gave it to me."

She raises one red eyebrow, but says nothing as she seats herself delicately in the bedside chair. 

"Loki?"

He pops into the room. "Yes, Missy Mistress?"

"Would you bring some tea for Ginny and I, please?"

He nods, genuflects, mutters assurances that the tea will be perfect, then leaves. Ginny watches me, but I say nothing. Loki reappears with a tea tray and flapjack and sets it on the table. I scratch his ears in thanks, and he vanishes again. 

"You're happy." Ginny pauses. "Well, happier."

"That wouldn't be difficult." I sigh. "I have my own space. I've come to... an acceptance of the situation, I suppose."

"That's odd."

"Why?" I ask, feeling defensive. "It's not that awful here, despite you telling me that it's a... what? Dreary little house?"

She flushes. "No, because of Professor Snape. He's locked himself up here for a week, getting pissed every day. Every time Draco tries to speak with him he dissolves into these melancholy rants before passing out..."

I turn my head down. What a mess.

"Do you know why, Hermione?" Ginny asks. 

I don't answer. 

"Do you hate him?" 

Do I? I'm almost startled that I don't. 

"No," I reply.

"Well then, you might want to figure out why he's acting this way, because it's not doing him any favours within the Inner Circle. Do you understand?"

I nod. How can I not, after that time he came back bruised and near-dead? Because he was defending me. In his own backward way, he's always defended me. How can you care for someone, but not even be able to hold a conversation with them?

I decide now, at this moment, that I'm going to _make _him talk to me. I have to try to mend our old friendship. I need him, and after his reaction in the library, I wonder if he _thinks _he needs me. 

"I'll have to go soon." Ginny sets aside her teacup, watching me with a knowing smile. "It would be nice if I could come back and visit again, if Snape lets you..."

Professor Snape wouldn't bar Ginny from me. It never crossed my mind. Yet I know Draco would never let me within a hundred feet of Malfoy Manor.

"It'll be fine," I tell her. 

"If you say so. I'll be here next week, though you can owl me if Snape forbids it. Draco wants me away during the dowry gifting... so Monday then?"

"How many days is that?"

She laughs then. "Seven, Hermione."

"All right, seven days. I'll see you then, Ginny."

She nods, walks over, and kisses me on the cheek.

"It's good to see you like this again, Hermione. Maybe if you're allowed, I'll send a bottle of something alcoholic to Loki so he can chill it. We can drink too much and ogle bad romance novels like we did back at school."

"I never did that. That was always, always you, Ginny, while I rolled my eyes and tried to study."

She shakes her head, laughs again, moves to the door. "See you soon, Hermione."

"Good-bye, Ginny."

The door shuts with a soft click. For the first time in days, weeks perhaps, I not only feel happy, but... hopeful. I fall asleep on my own, without the aid of a potion. 

---

My last Potions class was raucous with noise. Usually Snape kept the cacophony at a minimum with sharp words and quick detentions. Not today. He sat at his desk reading a heavy book, seemingly oblivious to the pushing, shoving, and general misconduct in his classroom. 

I wondered if he was in a snit because I'd decided to act as bait. Ron and Harry were behaving differently as well. Harry was distant, sad, when he looked at me. Ron was clingy. 

I tried desperately to concentrate on our assigned potion - a basic love potion. I thought it odd, since Snape rarely assigned concoctions which students could obviously use to manipulate others.

I had finished the potion with time to spare, though I'd been distracted by the noise. After leaving my cauldron to steep, I capped the jar of dry holly leaves and crossed the room to place it back on the top shelf. I stretched on my toes, reached up...

My fingers felt like they'd been hit by a zap of static electricity. I yelped. The jar of holly leaves slipped from my hand.

_Crash!_

Dessicated gray leaves scattered across the slate floor tiles. The glass jar smashed, sending shards of glass over the floor, into the shelves, even two small fragments into my leg. I squealed in pain, then turned on Malfoy

"What did you hit me with, Malfoy?" I snarled. "What did you do?"

Only Malfoy would've hit me with a hex. He sneered back at me and tossed back his blond hair.

"Don't blame me for your mistakes, Granger."

"You hexed her, Ferret?" Harry demanded.

The chatter rose, every student either feeling sorry for me, or laughing at me.

Professor Snape finally rose from his chair, a disdainful sneer pasted across his lips. The room instantly fell silent.

"Out, all of you, now."

I turned to leave.

"You stay, Miss Granger."

"Sir," Harry spoke up. "Her leg..."

"Out, Potter!"

Harry shot me an apologetic look before retreating with the rest of the students.

I looked down at my leg. A trickle of blood, like a liquid ruby, slowly slid down my calf.

"Come here." Professor Snape's voice was barely audible.

"Sir?" I asked, though I complied.

He moved a chair to face his own, then pointed to it.

"Sit." He sighed. "I am not so inept that I cannot perform first aid on a student. Or would you rather walk up the three flights of stairs with an injured leg?"

"No, Sir," I replied meekly, settling in the wooden seat.

He leaned into his desk drawer, pulled out a wooden box, and flipped up the lid. Inside, I could see various phials of numbing potions, clean cloths, and jars of various healing potions and pastes.

He reached down, never taking his eyes off my face, and lifted my foot into his lap. After leaving his hands on my ankles a minute, as if allowing me to escape, he examined the cuts. They were small, just two of them, where flying glass fragments had embedded themselves into my skin.

"Your robes are too short, Miss Granger. They should skim the floor."

"I... I had a growth spurt last year - I didn't want to buy new ones, they're expensive and I wanted to save up for my apprenticeship, so I just transfigured them..."

"And now you have learnt the error of your ways," he interrupted. "Transfigurations rarely hold in clothing. Now, if you would, sit still."

He held out his wand to the wounds.

"Accio glass shards."

I ground my teeth as the two bits of glass wriggled in my leg, then dislodged. They flew into his hand. I was afraid they'd cut him, but the two fragments bounced off his calluses and dropped into his palm, like a pair of frozen tears.

He reached into his - first aid kit? - and pressed a clean piece of flannel to the wound, wiping away the blood with small, exacting circles.

"You know, Miss Granger, there is still time for you to change your mind," he said.

"Change my mind?"

"Your mission to act as Lucius Malfoy's bait. Your mission... you've agreed to off yourself in two days, if I'm not mistaken?"

My face flushed. "I am not _offing myself._ I'm helping the war effort."

He dismissed my protests with a wave. "You know what I mean."

After cleaning off my leg all too thoroughly, he unscrewed the jar of salve. Why didn't he just give me a bottle of potion to swallow? I supposed he figured that I only had a cut, better to target just the injury.

Callused fingers dragged over the cut, smearing the green jelly onto my skin. Within seconds, the lacerations knit together, smoothed out, leaving my leg as unblemished as a peach skin.

"Your potential contributions to the Magical world in the future outweigh the advantages of capturing Lucius in the present."

The comment, without the sneer and disdainful expression, might have been a compliment. I dropped my head.

"Harry's the important one. We have to make sure Harry..."

"Potter!" he bellowed, then stood suddenly. "You are entirely more stupid than I ever gave you credit, Miss Granger."

I flinched. He stood, a scowl on his face, brow knit, as if he'd come to a decision.

"Miss Granger, detention. Tonight, at four p.m., you will pick enough holly to replace that which was ruined today. There is a mature, suitable holly bush near the edge of the Forbidden Forest. I expect you to harvest the holly from that grove. Do not expect me to meet you to oversee your work, I haven't the time for child-minding."

"Yes, Sir."

I kept my face down so he wouldn't see my watery eyes. I didn't want our last meeting - if it _was_ to be our last meeting - to end like this.

"You're dismissed."

He settled into his desk, concentrating on a sheaf of papers, ignoring me. I stood, collected my books. As I passed the shattered glass and leaves, I turned back to him.

"Shall I clean this, Sir, before I go?"

He looked up from his book. He looked so tired.

"Don't bother." He looked back down at his book, and his voice dropped to a mutter. "It won't matter."

I frowned, but didn't ask him any more questions. There were a dozen reasons I could think of for his sudden despondency.

"Get out, Miss Granger," he suddenly hissed. "Stop standing there gawking at me."

I bolted for my next class.

---

I knock on Professor Snape's door. He warded himself in yesterday so I couldn't speak with him. It's early morning - he won't have started into his cups.

"Professor?"

I turn the doorknob and peer in, hoping he's not in a mercurial mood.

"Miss Granger. Why... what is it you want?"

"I want to talk with you."

"Talk with me." He snorts.

"Yes, talk with you," I snap back. "Just... conversation, that's all. It'd be nice to have a conversation with someone other than Ginny or Loki."

He looks up at me, and for a second I see an expression of fleeting confusion. Yes, Professor, I know you expect me to come here and demand to talk about our _problems_. I know you'd run. I'm not that stupid.

"All right then, I suppose you may have a few minutes."

_How generous. _I don't voice it, of course. His defensive shell is so transparent - did I always see through him?

He stares into my eyes as I think it, and he seems to jump in his chair. Legilimency. How I'd love to be a Legilimens, if only to know whether he wants to be left alone or if he's feeling affectionate.

I settle across from him. Loki has left a second, empty cup on his tea-tray, and I pour myself a cup without asking permission. He raises an eyebrow, but says nothing.

"Ginny's visiting me on Monday." I wait a moment. "Is that acceptable with you?"

He frowns. "I'm not about to prevent you from seeing your... companions, if that is what would please you."

"Anthony Goldstein's joining the Malfoy household, maybe he'll come along."

"No. Miss Weasley is acceptable. Mister Goldstein is not," he bites back.

I crook my eyebrow. He's so terribly, terribly transparent today. He's jealous. I should be angry.

"So male friends are out. What if they're gay?"

I see a spot of colour in his cheeks.

"Their... orientation... is of little concern to me. I simply dislike Mister Goldstein."

"Liar. You'd be so angry if I told you never to speak to Bellatrix Lestrange or Narcissa Malfoy again."

He looks at me strangely, head cocked, brows drawn together. "Do you _want _me to stop speaking with them?"

"No. It's the principle of the thing."

Do I catch a flash of - disappointment? No. Maybe.

"Principles are good only for those people wholly disconnected with reality." His tone is imperious.

I feel a flash of anger. "And who keeps me 'wholly disconnected with reality'!"

Though I didn't come in here to argue, he always manages to say _something_ to anger me. It's little comments like these, ones that make me feel like a stupid little girl...

Loki, I think, senses the tension in the room, and appears at our feet. He drags a big bottle of something bright-green behind him. He smiles up at me, and ignores Professor Snape.

"Missy Mistress, Master, Loki be bringing something nice! Missy Redhead be sending a lovely present... big bottle of drinky-drinky for Missy Mistress. Why not try? Very delicious - Missy Aurelia always asks for this. Is called _Midori, _Loki knows! Very sweet and tasty... make Mistress calm."

"I'm supposed to save it for later, but I suppose I might as well have a sip, since it's here and the tea's gone." I sigh, my voice still taut. "I can't imagine that Draco's had such an influence on Ginny that she'd send Japanese melon liqueur. She was always one for cheap rum or vodka..."

Snape snorts. Loki sets a glass on the table, a knuckle's worth of emerald liquid. I bring it to my lips, only to have Professor Snape reach across the desk and stop me.

"You're not just going to _drink it, _are you?" he asks.

"What else would you do with it?"

"Hasn't the problem with Loki and the emetics taught you anything, girl? You can trust nobody."

"Not even you?"

He pauses. "Especially not me, if it means satisfying my own desires."

"Liar, liar, liar." I reply, feeling superior. "Odd how your desires usually seem to revolve around keeping me safe."

His head snaps upward, his eyes widen. It's as if I've discovered some terrible, awful secret in his past. I smirk at him, and he turns away with a look of shame.

How guilty he can make me feel, just with a look.

"Give it to me," he mutters, taking the cup.

He swishes his wand; nothing. He examines the bottle. He takes a sip, then spits it back into the cup. His face pales.

"It's poisoned." He says. "Ricin and numbing potion. Quite potent. The liquor's strong taste conceals the flavours of the poisons well."

I swallow. Stare at him. He examines the bottle once again, performing a tracking spell, an ownership spell, a half dozen spells I don't recognize. His expression transmutes into anger.

"Loki, you foolish creature, where did you get this?"

"A house-elf... Malfoy house-elf... bring it to me and say is from Missy Redhead. Loki... what did Loki do?"

"You almost killed her, you bloody halfwitted creature..."

Loki shakes. I shake.

"Do you see, Hermione?" he asks, catching my hands in his, eyes wild. "Do you see why I keep you here? There are dozens that would like nothing more than to kill you - you're the closest to Harry Potter that they can get at. They would take out their own frustrations upon you. My _sister_ sent this... gift to you. My own sister, not Miss Weasley."

"Why?"

My voice sounds small and weak. I feel him squeeze my fingers before sighing and dropping them.

"Aurelia is afraid of you."

He stares out the window at the soft green ivy just starting to crawl over the panes. If it were anyone but him, I'd think him daydreaming. Does he daydream? Everyone has hopes for the future, desires they never voice...

"Why would she be afraid of me? I'm just a concubine." I spit the word out, feeling a knot in my stomach.

"No," he murmurs, "You're not."

"What do you mean?"

He lifts up the bottle, sets it aside.

"I will deal with Aurelia. I assure you, this will _not _happen again," he says. "Go, spend your day as you wish. I must go and deal with the repercussions of this _special delivery."_

I open my mouth, but he holds up one hand to silence me. Despite the hand, I speak to him.

"Please, please come to me when you're finished. I want to talk with you, brew some potions, maybe eat together, like before." I turn my head toward an empty scotch bottle in the corner and the full garbage-bin of crumpled parchments. "I don't want you like this."

He lets out a huff.

"Please? You won't make me beg, will you?"

He glowers at me, then nods.

"Fine. I will be back in the afternoon, but I wish to finish some correspondence before the end of the day. I will come to you when I have a few free minutes."

I smile. "Thank you."

He coughs, then grumbles out something that sounds suspiciously like _you're welcome. _

Eventually we'll have to talk about what happened in the library. Not now, though. I won't push that conversation until he's let down his defenses again.

When I glance over at him leaving, I swear, just for a minute, I see a ghost of a smile in his eyes before he turns away from me and hurries out.

---


	11. Chapter 11

AN: Wow. Between the 2 sites, I've gotten 15000 hits. Plus, very exciting, I got a review from the Potions Master admin (!). This is the final chapter save an epilogue to tie up loose ends - I'm considering a sequel-type story to flesh it out, but not until I've finished some other stories I'm working on.

---

I have come to the conclusion that Severus Snape is impossible to understand. I've seen rabid animals more predictable than him. At times he's my teacher. At times he's my friend. At times, he's... more. Lately he's been bland and distant, but kinder and more predictable than I've seen him before.

He must be terribly confused. I know _I_ am. Lucky that I'm a persistent woman.

For four days I've spent the afternoons with him, over lunch, over supper, discussing friendly but uncontroversial subjects. Potions. Books. The garden. He's always the one who comes to get me from my room, or from the garden, or the library at mealtime. Other than that, he leaves me be, though I know he watches through the door when I'm in the library, opens his window to listen to me sing as I plant the springtime perennials.

He doesn't touch me. He doesn't touch alcohol. When we work in the Potions lab, or sit in his office, he stays as far away from me as possible. I'm torn between relief and disappointment.

"How did you find Debaton's book on steeping techniques?" he asks over his lunch.

_Good God, can't we get beyond this?_

I wonder if he's only behaving so blandly because he doesn't want to frighten me. He's so emotionally skittish that if I _tell_ him I'm not some china doll, and that I _liked _it when I could talk to him about my worries, he'll just run.

"It was a little dull. I've already read most of Debaton's so-called innovations in other journals."

"Hmm. I agree," he says.

There's a lull in the conversation before he speaks again.

"Miss Weasley is supposed to arrive tomorrow. Do you need anything for her visit?"

"Need anything?" I ask.

He frowns. "I don't know what it is that _young women_ do when they congregate. I am especially ignorant as to the rituals of young _Muggle _women - not that I particularly care - though I _do _realize that both our lives may run more smoothly if you are given the knickknacks you were used to in your past."

I smile. "You'd fetch me Muggle things if I asked you?"

He glowers at me. "I do not _fetch._"

"Poor choice of words. I just never considered..."

I look down at my meal - curry, at my request. How many little gestures have I missed? How many small messages has he tried to give me? I've never been one for subtlety, and he's just the opposite - he could never, ever blatantly declare his intentions. Cherries, my favourite fruit; a room painted blue, not far from the colour I kept my room at Hogwarts; chocolate and soup and tucking me in at night.

I realize he's waiting for me to speak.

The cheer in my voice sounds forced. "You don't have to worry. Us _young women_ don't require much more than game boards and a cup of tea."

He looks skeptical.

"All right, so maybe it'll just be bad Wizarding romances and bottles of beer and something chocolatey and fattening, but we won't disturb you, I promise," I say. "Muggle things... I can't think of anything I really miss... except maybe my cat..."

We lapse into silence again, me ruminating on poor Crooks, and him looking uncomfortable at my sudden melancholy. He speaks first.

"I notice you weeded and sowed the garden closest to the front door."

"Yes, I thought it might be nice to plant some daisies and roses."

I watch his reaction. He clenches his spoon, knuckles white. I can see him forcing himself to relax, to unclench the spoon, to reschool his features into a mask of indifference.

Loki appears before he can respond. "Master Little Malfoy is being in the apparation room."

"You may escort him in, Loki."

"Apparation room?" I ask.

"After the poisoning attempt, I warded all rooms in the house against floo and apparation except the small room closest to the front door. You or I must release our visitors from the room."

"So if we're not here, or we don't want to let them out, they're stuck in there?"

"Unless they're exceptionally good at dismantling dark wards, and even then it would take a while. It is for your safety, you understand." He looks upon me with pinched eyebrows, what I now recognize as a sign of nervousness. "If I charmed a small piece of jewellery to alert me when you were in danger, would you wear it?"

"Just so you'd know when I was in danger? Of course."

He lets out a sigh of relief. "Excellent. You will find it inside that gray box on the sideboard."

I reach over for the nondescript case, expecting a bangle or perhaps a chain or barrette. He leans down to study his drinking glass as I pull the top open - I'm suddenly a bit giddy, wondering what exactly I'll find inside. A bit like a birthday or Christmas present, really; only it's not my birthday, and it's not Christmas.

We missed Christmas, I realize. Maybe he'll let me make it up.

I see the glint of gold. The bracelet is a network of fine chains woven around a pair of red stones. The metalwork flashes fire under the candlelight. The clasps are polished to a high shine with age. He reaches over and clasps it around my wrist before I have a chance to respond. His fingers brush my skin. I can't do anything except lick my lips and swallow.

It's beautiful.

"It's a family piece," he says abruptly. "Be careful with it."

Such snappish words, his last, weak line of defense, completely at odds with the present he's given to me. It's a present, not a safety device. I know it. He knows it, and he's frightened that I know it. His fingers linger upon mine for a fraction too long before he pulls back.

The door clatters open, interrupting the syrupy-tension between us. Draco, alone, peers into the room. He looks a mess. His hair sticks in all directions, like cornsilk. His eyes are puffy, and the glamour he's tried to hide it with does a poor job.

"Draco, whatever is the matter?"

"Ginevra," he barks back. "Ginevra is gone. I found her window lying open and the wards dismantled. I came to see if, for some reason, she came here."

Draco pins me down with an accusatory gaze. I shrink, and let my eyes flicker to Professor Snape, wondering how I should behave. He offers me a reassuring quirk of his lips, then stands, moves around the table, and settles his hand on my shoulder.

"Your... companion... is not here, Draco."

"Companion! Do not make it more than it was, Snape. My _whore _has abandoned me."

Draco's hands shake. His voice trembles. I pity him. Despite his harsh words, he looks on the verge of tears.

"I have not seen her since she visited with you last, Draco. Hermione?" He turns to me. "Have you seen Miss Weasley?"

He searches my eyes as I speak. I know he's searching for deception, but he'll find none.

"I haven't. The last day she was here she made plans to see me on Monday, since you were arranging a dowry. She didn't sound like she was planning to leave."

"You have your answer, Draco, she has not been here, and neither Hermione nor I have seen her in days."

Draco's face goes red. He splutters at me.

"She's lying! She's a Mudblood, she's probably scheming to stab you the first chance she gets! Just like Ginevra, she's telling you sweet lies, simpering, promising you..."

"She is _not _lying," Snape interrupts. "And you will address her with respect, or you will leave. Hermione has had dozens of opportunities to murder me were that her ultimate goal. God knows I have given her enough reason to in the past."

I stare at him. In front of Draco he can say these things. Why does it take Draco Malfoy to spur him into such declarations? Maybe because he can predict my reactions with Draco in the room. I can't overreact or act emotional.

"You interrupted our luncheon, Draco, but if you wish to, you may join Hermione and I." He settles back into the seat at the end of the table. "Though I must say, chicken vindaloo owes very little to the Wizarding world, and I doubt you would find Muggle dishes palatable in the least."

Draco makes a gagging noise. He backs up, like a cat facing a bulldog.

"You're disgusting," he finally manages to hiss. "You've gone Muggle. Eating Muggle food. Allowing your Muggle to sit at your table. I bet you even allow her to address you by your given name."

"Hermione may refer to me by whichever name she pleases," he replies blandly, poking at his meal. "I would rather it, actually. I have no desire to be reminded of my former career, especially considering my hopes for her."

Hopes? I narrow my eyes at him, wondering what elaborate plans he's set in motion this time.His eyes soften just a fraction, ignoring Draco's scowl.

"My father told me about your deal, Snape. I don't know how the Dark Lord could ever agree to such vile miscegenation, even if you promised you'd find out everything she knew about _Potty_. You haven't managed to produce any heir..."

Protection? Rights? Status? Heir? My mind whirls. _What has he done?_

Professor Snape - _Severus? - _stands so suddenly that he knocks over his glass. When he speaks, though, his voice is still cool and controlled.

"When I told you to behave respectfully I meant it. I will escort you out. Return when you remember my place."

_I am third only to Lucius and Bellatrix,_ he'd once told me. Draco seems to recognize it. His eyes widen, and _Severus _follows him out the door. I'm left alone in his office, chewing mechanically on a bit of potato, sipping black coffee and mulling what Draco said.

I wait for Severus to return to explain, but the sun sinks and the food grows cold.

He's too scared to come back.

I cross my arms over my chest and move to the long windows to watch the sunset. I pull open the drapes. The horizon is a fiery pink gold against the forest-silhouette.

Then I look down.

A black hood, black robe and a black-daubed face peers through the glass at me. A pair of blue eyes, so bright they seem to glow, stand out from the prowler's face. He stares at me. Whoever it is - a man - lifts his wand, points it my way.

I turn on my heel, bolt for the door. I run, run, pushing myself. Professor Snape, Severus, startles me by appearing noiselessly at my side. He catches my shoulders, halting me mid-stride.

"Hermione?"

He looks so _concerned. _One hand brushes down my arm, lingering on the bracelet.

"If it was what Draco said, I will not..."

"No... Prof... Severus," I say between breaths. "In your office... someone was watching me."

"Draco?"

"No, someone bigger, brawnier, in a black robe and hood, with blue eyes. A prowler of some sort. They pointed their wand at me..."

My heart still races, and I cling to his shoulders, trying to catch my breath again.

"Come, Hermione, let us look. I can't imagine anyone breaking my wards. We are quite secure." He hesitates before adding, "Don't be frightened."

He keeps his arm around me, leading me through the corridor, back to the office. In my terror I left the curtains open, and the sky has darkened to a deep sapphire-blue, studded with stars. The air smells richly of coffee and cardamom. The remains of our noon meal sit congealing upon the creamy bone china.

"Where, Hermione?"

"Right there." I point, and feel embarrassed at the tremble in my voice. "There, on the ground, beside that forsythia."

He frowns, presses his face to the glass.

"There's a boot-print in the soil. It's fresh - we had rain this morning."

I shiver. "Why would someone skulk around your property?"

"The Dark Lord has threatened death to any English witch, wizard or Muggle who trespasses upon Death Eater territory. I cannot imagine anyone willing to risk their lives by crossing onto my land." He furrows his brow, then pulls me closer to him, so he can look into my eyes. "Stay near me, Hermione - yes, a few feet behind - while I check the wards in your bedchamber."

I do as he says and trail him at an arm's length. He has his wand out, as do I.

In my bedroom, he carefully steps over my belongings, past the tiny glass bottles filled with skin lotions, hair serums and shampoos I've brewed for myself. He pulls aside my drapes, presses a hand to the window, and steps back, eyes thoughtful.

"Someone's tried to break the wards. They managed to lower one set, but the second set is still strong."

It must be an assassin, I tell myself. If it were anything, anyone else... no. I'll keep telling myself that it was a prowler. It has to be.

"Someone's trying to kill me, aren't they?"

He shakes his head. "It makes no sense, Hermione. I am too powerful, my home too strongly barricaded, for anyone to have a chance at harming you. Older Pureblood homes, like mine, were built as fortresses. After the last poisoning attempt, the Dark Lord made it quite clear that you were under his protection. Perhaps I've overlooked something. I thought I'd considered every avenue for your safety..."

His voice trails off, and he places a hand on my shoulder. He looks lost and sad. For once, he doesn't school his features into that blank look I detest so much. I turn and burrow into his side. He freezes, and after a minute of indecision, drapes his hand over my hair.

"You have nothing to fear," he whispers into my hair. "I'll strengthen the wards tomorrow morning."

"Tomorrow?"

"I cannot do it properly at night," he says. "Our intruder is either very foolish or very strong. I suspect the latter - I cannot feel his presence on the property, and Loki is magically bound to inform me if he senses an intruder."

He lingers, holding my shoulders.

"What now?" I ask.

"The most heavily defended part of the house is the master bedchamber - as is true in most older dwellings. The wards were built into the bricks and mortar. Stay there, just until morning. I give you a wand oath that I will make a bed for myself upon the window bench. If you would prefer, I will transfigure the room so that you aren't reminded..."

He looks guiltily to the ground. Ah, yes, our best-forgotten first _encounter, _his preferred euphemism.

"Severus, don't be silly."

He smiles - broadly - at my use of his first name, and squeezes my shoulders. I don't think I've ever seen him smile like that, without his lips pressed together. When I stare at him, he moves one hand to his mouth. He's self-conscious, I realize, of his teeth. How strange to think he's got his own soft spots.

"Severus, you don't have to worry so much, not about propriety, anyhow," I say. "I'll stay in the upstairs bedchamber, just for the night. You know I trust you."

He nods slowly, tentatively, pulls me just a bit closer to his body. I could wriggle away. When I don't, he tugs my hand and leads me up the staircase. He holds the bedroom door open for me, and as I scamper in, my fear vanishes. After the door clatters shut behind him, he sets extra wards on his door, on his windows, on the floor and ceiling.

I kneel atop his red and black bedlinens. He makes himself comfortable in the fat upholstered chair furthest from me. He's quiet, and sips on a cup of water, watching me from under that curtain of hair.

I'll let him stew a little before I start questioning him.

---

I'd visited Professors McGonagall, Sinistra, Flitwick, Sprout, and Vector. I'd said good-bye to Hagrid and Filch, and tried to spend some happy moments with my other classmates. They couldn't know about my mission. Top secret, as Muggles say.

That left only Snape. I'd saved the best for last.

I plodded down the stairs to the dungeons. His detention began in twenty minutes, but I wanted to tell him how much I respected him before I left. Just in case.

I tapped on his office door. No response. I peered into the Potions classroom. Empty.

"Miss Granger?"

"Hello, Headmaster," I replied.

"Looking for Severus... Professor Snape, child?"

I nodded. "I just wanted to tell him... that I respected him, and... well, I suppose it doesn't matter. He's going to save me tomorrow. I can tell him then."

"Of course." The Headmaster paused. "I believe he just left Hogwarts to join Voldemort. He said he'd be back this evening to discuss tomorrow's plans. Go on, Miss Granger, spend a few hours to yourself."

"I'll try to, Sir. I have detention now." I sighed. "Professor Snape's still angry with me."

Dumbledore smiled, but his eyes looked distant.

"It's only because you're his favourite student. He's far too attached to you."

I blushed. Dumbledore turned away and peered into the Potions classroom. He looked puzzled.

"Severus never leaves the classroom in a mess..."

He stared at the holly leaves and glass still over the floor. My mess.

"How very, very strange," he muttered. "Anyhow, Miss Granger, go complete your detention, but if you wish to talk to anyone, I will be in my office. I am always there to welcome Severus back after Voldemort's meetings... and I'm happy to give you advice if you wish it."

"Yes, Sir, I'll keep that in mind."

He turned to leave, then turned back to me with a strange, guarded look. "And, Miss Granger?"

"Yes, Headmaster?"

"Tomorrow - when Severus comes for you - wait until the rest of the Order arrives for you before you leave with him."

"Why, Sir?" I asked, confused.

Dumbledore shook his head, then smiled. "No reason, just planning for remote possibilities... you'll be safe tomorrow, Miss Granger. Do not worry. You'll survive. The Order will remain, and I promise you'll be rescued."

"Er... yes, Sir."

He turned and shuffled up the stairs. I didn't say good-bye to him - after all, I'd see him in an hour. I picked up a basket and made my way to the Forbidden Forest, Dumbledore's words quickly forgotten.

---

"You're very quiet tonight," Severus finally speaks up from his corner chair.

"Am I?"

I nibble at a Muggle chocolate bar Severus _just happened _to have in one of his drawers - alongside a half-dozen Muggle books and a music-box, a souvenir from Opera Garnier's performance of _Fidelio_. Had he planned excuses to give them to me, like the bracelet? I wonder if perhaps the jewelry was a test, something less personal to gauge my reactions.

"You know you're being quiet, stop playing coy with me."

I stare back at him. He shifts his spidery limbs in the too-small seat.

"You look terribly uncomfortable in that chair. Come here and sit. We're both adults, and there's plenty of space on the bed."

"You cannot be serious."

"Why not?" I ask. "If you're that concerned, put a small ward in the middle of the bed to keep us from touching. It'll be far more comfortable, I promise."

"Well, now that I have your _promise_, I shall leap under the covers," he replies snidely.

"Oh, stop being difficult, it's a mutually acceptable agreement. I want you comfortable, and you want conversation."

"I want no such thing. You constantly chatter. It is simply a surprise when I hear silence whilst I am in your presence. A _welcome_ surprise."

"Fine then, I guess I'll just go to sleep."

Feeling huffy, I turn over and face the opposite side of the room. I don't even realize he's moved until the bed sinks beside me. He sits stiffly against the headboard, looking uncomfortable and leaving two feet between him and I.

"Perhaps I _have_ become come to appreciate your chatter." He sighs. "I assume you're mulling on what Draco said."

I slide closer to him. "I want you to explain why I'm here."

"May we... leave this discussion for another time?"

He's warded himself in - he can't escape me, not easily.

"No, I don't want to leave it to another time." My voice rises. "I've been here... months and months... and you still haven't told me anything."

"You're not a stupid girl, Hermione, you must've figured it out," he replies, voice laden with self-loathing. "My idiocy is transparent to all."

"I want to hear _you_ tell me. I can't believe it any other way, don't you see?"

"No I do not_ see. _Do you wish to torture me? To mock me?"

"No, you're not trying that on me again," I say, then look at him sadly. "Before, I thought we were as close to friends as a student and teacher could be. You used to talk to me. I cared terribly for you, you know."

He looks at me wistfully before letting his head droop.

"I don't have _friends_. Those closest to me have always wanted something. You were the only one even remotely..." His voice trails off. "I have no idea how to treat someone as a friend, Hermione."

From another man, it might sound like melodrama designed to elicit sympathy, but Severus's voice doesn't hold any trace of self pity. He's more alone than even I am. At least I have Loki, and for a while I had Ginny.

I wriggle over and put my arms around his shoulders. I haven't anywhere else to go. I haven't anyone else. Neither does he.

"I have plenty of time to teach you how to be a friend, if you want it."

He looks so genuinely surprised. When he begins speaking, the words are tentative.

"I knew I couldn't save you when you were to act as bait. Lucius would have killed you. He would've raped you, then tortured you to death. He would've saved it in a Pensieve, for later entertainment, perhaps to show me. He would've thought it quite amusing."

He stares out the window, eyes darkened. I can see his patience

"I couldn't allow him near you, Hermione. The thought of him touching you... then Albus told me to push you in _Weasley's_ direction. Weasley. Weasley! Albus knew... he knew as well as I that Weasley was not even close to your equal. Weasley didn't even realize you _needed _protection. Is that not the first duty of a man?"

He's becoming agitated, the thought of his own self-perceived stupidity making him angrier and angrier as he speaks.

"I still don't understand why..." I begin, but he doesn't let me finish.

A strange yowl rips from his throat - frustration - and he moves back from me. "Can you not see what lies right before you? I had fallen in love with you, you stupid girl!"

I stare at him. His face turns red. He looks like a caged panther. He's watching me from under a fringe of hair, eyes narrowed, as if ready to attack me, or perhaps to run.

"In love with me." I repeat his own words, slowly. "In love with me."

He turns. "I did not tell you so you would mock me, Miss Granger. Believe me, I am quite able to do so myself, and have, frequently."

That still doesn't explain everything else - why he brought me here, why he locked me up, why he didn't just try to get me away from Ron to ply me with his charms.

But then, what charms does Severus think he has? He loathes _everything _about himself.

"What did you plan, once you had me here, Severus?"

"I don't know..."

"Tell me the truth. You always have a plan, and a counterplan. Always.."

He looks guardedly at me for a minute, then speaks defeatedly.

"After the battle, I imagined you'd think me your rescuer. I thought..." He swallows. "I thought that as your _rescuer, _you might reciprocate my feelings, if only a fraction. Once you came here, I realized you loathed me so much that you wanted to die. I could barely stand to look at you, knowing I was the cause. That first time, that second time, when you allowed me to... have you in my bed... I thought perhaps you did not wholly loathe me, but you just lay there. When I finished, it seemed little better than an assault."

"Why _me, _though? I never treated you any differently than I treated anyone else."

The silence balloons. He looks sick at this sudden baring of his soul. I reach over and brush back a lock of his hair, knowing that the simplest of gestures have the greatest response in him. He touches my hands, tracing the veins under the skin, refusing to meet my eyes.

"You were always kind with me, even when I wasn't kind with you. You conversed with me, and shared drinks and books with me. You hugged me once, held my hand twice when I was ill. I remember it so clearly. Nobody touched me like that - not of their own volition. You didn't get anything from it, you simply wanted to hear my answers." His voice drops. "I wished to scoff at your sentimentality, but I found you enchanting. You were worth more than Lucius, more than Potter or Weasley, yet nobody seemed to recognize that except me."

"Oh, Severus..." I whisper.

I knew. Somewhere within me, I knew, but I've been denying it to myself for months with the logical response - _if he cared, he wouldn't have kept you captive. _Logic, I realize now, plays little in Severus's actions. He's so inept. I never thought what it must be like for someone who'd never been treated with anything more than disgust.

"I didn't bother finding out who survived the attack of Hogwarts, Hermione. I cared only about installing you here, making sure you were safe and warded against the outside world. Potter seems to have survived, but I cannot say for your friends, and I will not lie to you and say I care, terribly..."

Harry is safe. Ginny, I imagine, is safe, and has found some way to escape. There's still hope. If I escaped, I could likely find a resistance movement, or members of the Order, if I tried hard enough.

But then, what of Severus, left behind? If I had a way out, I'd leave him, but I don't. So I'll try to make the best of it. Perhaps we _will _be friends, someday.

"Once I'd fallen in love with you, like your plan, then what?"

He scowls. "I was a fool."

I shake my head and interlace my fingers through his, playing with those too-sharp knucklebones. He lets out an involuntary sigh and blushes scarlet, but answers my question anyhow. My touch is like Veritaserum.

"I asked the Dark Lord to grant you the same privileges as a Pureblood. I knew eventually I'd want an heir...I wished to have a child with _you, _Hermione. I could imagine him so clearly..." His lip curls in disgust. "If I die - I suspected I might, early in the battles - that way you are guaranteed an inheritance and your freedom. If we ever had a child, it would be considered full blood."

Silence.

"I never, ever had any aspirations for - how did you put it? - the wife, dog and the lot, not until I noticed you last year. Then the idea refused to leave me. A soppish, deluded old man who felt rather like Humbert Humbert."

He sounds acid-bitter. I squeeze his hand.

"I'm a not very partial to dogs, actually."

He smiles, the mood lightening just a bit, and continues. "I dangled the possibility in front of the Dark Lord that you might know Potter's weaknesses. I offered to kill Dumbledore. The Dark Lord happily granted me _you_ in exchange for the Headmaster."

He's a murderer. He imprisoned me. I know he was wrong. Yet I understand why he did it.

"You've thought about this a very long time, Severus."

"For nearly a year." His voice is still flat. "I will make you a wand-oath _never_ to lay a hand upon you unless it is invited. In addition, Loki cheerfully mentioned that if I ever struck you in anger or discipline, he would poison my food."

It shouldn't be funny, but I can't help but crack a grin.

"You have a knack for inspiring undying devotion from mean-spirited outcasts, my dear Miss Granger."

Tears prickle my eyes through my smile. He swallows, fishes a handkerchief from his bedside table, and presses it into my hand.

"Being friends with someone isn't easy, Severus," I say, voice thick. "You love me. Is that reason enough for you to try? It might not work. We might end up hating one another. But I'd _like _to be friends. I'd consider more - with time."

"Whatever it is you want me to do to earn your good graces, tell me, Hermione. Gifts? Would that please you? Or perhaps..."

I laugh. He looks so drained from this heart to heart. His bedchamber is warded so tightly that not even Loki can get in. Just him and I. If he wants me, sexually, he could just tforce me. He doesn't, though. He just sits there, babbling and staring at me like I'm a boggart or the squid.

"I think what I want is to get some rest. You need it too, Severus. Let's sleep for now. Tomorrow we'll strengthen the wards together. After that... well, it depends on our mood, I suppose."

"Here I expected a day-by-day long-term plan."

Now his lips twitch, but he still has that look of uncertainty. I smile back at him and nestle a bit deeper into the blankets.

He lies down on the other side, leaving me a wide berth, all his muscles tense. I press a hand to his back, wanting him to know that I _want_ to be here, that he doesn't disgust me, that I trust him.

"Good-night."

"Sweet dreams," he replies. "My dear."

I smile at the endearment and let my eyes flutter shut. For the first time in months, I don't dream about the past.

---


	12. Chapter 12

One small edit that my editor didn't pick up and change last time, specifically relating to the kid's name (my editor changed it so that it didn't seem like I'd 'borrowed' another fanfic's character name).I'm not writing a sequel to this. I won't update it after this, either.

---

Severus snorted at the tree when I transfigured it three weeks ago. I was so excited. You can't get aluminium artificial Christmas trees in Britain, not with Muggles now living in a second Dark Ages. I had to do the work myself.

I created all the decorations for the tree, too. The stretchy red-foil garlands I always used to string around the tree at home; the tiny blinking lights in yellow and red and blue and green; the delicate glass balls in metallic colours; the fat angel looking down from the top. I even included a very special charm to sing _Feliz Navidad _a la Boney M whenever Severus scowled my way.

"The daffodils have blossomed in the garden," Severus says. "I should bring a few in."

"And ruin the illusion of winter, you spoilsport?" I throw a bit of garland at him. "Christmas-in-March doesn't have daffodils. It has turkey, egg nog, candy canes and cranberry jelly. Mmm, I can't wait to eat..."

"I don't care what you say, Hermione, not every Muggle must eat that jelly in the shape of a can. It's repulsive to swallow something transfigured into a jiggling cylinder," he says. "And I still think the traditional Wizarding wassail and goose is quite..."

"Bleurgh, oily goose, and when you make wassail, there's very little in the way of apples and cinnamon and quite a lot in the ways of ale. Your wassail always tastes like it could kill a donkey."

He glowers, but there's no vitriol to it. "I wonder if Loki has finished... I'll be back in a few minutes, you sit there and enjoy your vile _egg concoction. _How unappealing, not even a drop of liquor in it this year. I don't know why you bothered."

I stretch out over the the chaise longue and look over the sitting room - strange to think I once used it as a bedroom. Cream drapes hang over the windows. A Muggle CD player sings an aria from Turandot. I've charmed the windows to look like they're stencilled with winter frost. The open window detracts a bit from my fantasy - I can hear songbirds outside and the air smells like new grass.

I yawn and shut my eyes, waiting for Severus to return. Muggle Christmas is always lovely. A day just for me. A day where all Muggleness is not only acceptable, but welcome. I think, somewhere along the line, it became more to Severus than just something to keep me happy, and he started to enjoy it as well.

A small mountain of gifts sit beneath the tree. No magical gifts - those we save for December.

A cracking sound interrupts my reverie. I open my eyes, expecting to see Loki or Severus.

It's neither. It's the sound of the window wards falling. A square fingered hand reaches over the sill. I stare for a moment, ready to scream for Severus, until I recognize the red hair. Two heads of red hair. They crawl through the open window.

"Ginny? Ron?" My voice is a whisper.

"Hermione?" Ginny asks. "Look at you. What's going on?"

My mind's blank.

"It's Muggle Christmas," I reply automatically. "Or rather, the day I celebrate Christmas as a Muggle."

"Well. I suppose this'll be a great Christmas present," Ron says distractedly. "Let's go."

He has a scar down the middle of his chin, deep and pink. His arms and shoulders look bulky and muscled even beneath his thick shell suit. Ginny stares at me with a horrified expression. No, not at _me_ - at the shell combs lifting up my hair, at the bracelet round my wrist, and the sapphire on my finger.

"Let's go?" I ask.

"We're here to rescue you," Ron says. "Hurry, we haven't much time before Snape discovers McGonagall's lowered his Eastern wards. We have a couple brooms, we'll walk to shore, fly past the maritime border charms, then use our portkeys to get to America. From there we can get you to a safehouse."

He looks exhausted. They're both covered in dirt and twigs, and I bet they've hiked all the way from the ocean. Ron takes a swig of water, pops a chocolate frog into his mouth, and tosses aside the wrapper. Ginny tries to catch her breath.

"Safehouse?" I sink back into the sofa and think - _they're finally here to rescue me. _

They're too late.

"Yes, we're leaving, now."

"I can't leave, Ron."

He sighs deeply, then wipes his brow with his sleeve. When he looks at me, his blue eyes are filled with pity. Blue eyes - how did I not realize earlier that it was _his _blackened face at the window? He'd tried to save me before. What would I have done then? My life would've turned out far, far differently...

"I know you're scared, Hermione, and you think that Snape's not so bad," Ron cajoles. "It's called Stockholm Syndrome. Just remember - I'm your friend. Ginny's your friend. We love you, and we'll keep you safe..."

Severus loves me, and he's kept me safe for years now. I couldn't leave him. Now especially.

"I've been here three and a half years, Ron," I say. "This is my home."

"You can have a home with us, Hermione." He smiles at me, like a veterinarian looking on an abused puppy. "We can be together again. We can fight the Dark Lord. Punish him for what he did to you."

"Ron, there are things you don't understand - you have to go, before Severus gets here."

"Severus?" Ginny asks. "Severus now, is it?"

My face flushes. Shame, but only for my own earlier hypocrisy. How could I have once thought that every choice was black, white, right, wrong? Would she have looked at me with such loathing if she'd stayed with Draco?

"Because you're _in love_ with him? What happens when he finds some Pureblooded witch to marry, Hermione? Tell me," Ginny says, mocking my own words.

I shake my head again. "I may love him, but that's not why I'm staying."

Heavy footsteps plod down the corridor. I hear the echo of voices through the walls.

"Today is Muggle Christmas, which means Muggle pants and shirts. Yes, I know Loki's confused by Muggle clothing. No, cats can't wear shirts, what sort of question is that? Oh, _good Lord, _don't tell me... Hermione, there is a tee-shirt now spontaneously transfigured around your familiar, though at least we can be assured that she is not a squib..."

I freeze. The door bursts open. Severus walks in. Anna toddles behind him - she walks slowly, steps still a bit unsure even though she's twenty two months now. She's sleepy after spending half the night bothering me, asking why Father Christmas made a special second stop at our house.

All I wanted was some sleep by the third time she awoke - two in the morning.

"Weasley! Both Weasleys," Severus hisses. "Hermione..."

"They just appeared at the window, Severus."

He clutches Anna to his side. Ron and Ginny can't mistake her for a combination of anyone but Severus and I. Luckily she was spared that nose, but she has that oily black hair, that over-pale skin, my big front teeth and flat brown eyes. I once found those traits unappealing.

"Ouch," Anna yelps at her father. "Too tight!"

Severus looks guiltily at her, relaxing his grip, but still holding her against him. His other hand clutches his wand.

"_Because you're fucking him_, Hermione?" Ginny asks snidely.

"You..." Severus's lip curls, and he lifts his wand.

Ginny and Ron blench.

"Severus, no."

I reach out, lower his wand.

"Hermione, if you don't come with us now, you'll not have another chance," Ron says quietly.

I look over at Anna. Impossible. I couldn't ever, _ever_ leave her. I look over at Severus. He looks terrified. Terrified of me running away and leaving him alone again. He would never admit it, but I've become his closest friend, confidante. His _only_ friend.

Does Ron even consider that I have friends here? Life goes on no matter who is running a country. People still make friends. On Tuesdays I visit Madam Pince, who runs a bookshop in Hogsmeade; every few days I floo into Swansea to see Millicent Bulstrode - she's now looked upon with suspicion, since she cared for Dean Thomas and eventually wed him.

A mixed marriage. I know only two that have happened since the Dark Lord's ascension.

"Everyone wants you back. Don't you see? You have so many friends waiting for you," Ron says. "You aren't to blame for what Snape did to you."

I'm not a _victim. _My eyes flicker to Anna. Down to my belly. Another eight months, perhaps. Not even Severus knows. How would I ever manage, a wanted woman, pregnant, and later, a single mother? How could I ever live knowing I'd abandoned my daughter?

"You can bring her with us," Ginny whispers, as if reading my thoughts.

Severus left behind? It would kill him. I run the household, keep the finances in order, make sure his laundry's clean and he gets cooked meals. I'm the only one he confides in, the one whom he plays with. He's always been more devoted to me than I am to him, but now that I have the opportunity, a life without him seems unpalatable.

My cat runs by the door - my first Muggle Christmas gift from Severus to me. I think Severus knew to get me a cat as different from Crooks as possible. She's skinny, smooth haired, and black as a crow. And now she's wearing an awkwardly resized pink shirt I got for Anna. My child's first spontanous display of magic, it seems.

"Pretty cat!" Anna squawks, wriggling in Severus's arms.

"You will not be taking my daughter as well," Severus coldly tells both Weasleys. "Hermione has been free to do as she pleases for three years. I cannot stop _her_, but I will not allow you to take my _entire_ family from me."

"Your _family?" _Ginny scoffs. "She didn't have much choice, considering you locked her up here and basically forced yourself upon her. Oh, yes, Snape, I know why you felt so guilty! He's twisted your mind, Hermione."

Has he? Is that why there's a Muggle Christmas tree in the corner, a CD player on the table, why he left the room painted turquoise after I changed it all in a fit of pique? He's not perfect - I know that better than anyone - but I've come to think that we're equally prisoners, Severus and I. Perhaps him moreso, since his is a prison of his own creation.

"Hermione, he's already said he won't stop you. It can be the three of us again - Harry's waiting for us back in..."

I have to interrupt Ron, before he says something I know Severus'll be obligated to tell Voldemort.

"I won't break my vows, Ron." I offer Ginny a wan smile. "We were wed two years ago. I wish you could've seen it. We had to go to Ireland, since nobody would perform it here..."

"Come with us," Ron says again, sounding desperate.

"Hermione." Severus drops his head so I can't see his face. "Stay here with us. You would not make me beg, would you?"

I cross the room and move to Severus's side. Anna looks frightened, and Severus strokes her hair, presses a kiss to her cheek to try and still her darting eyes. Ron's eyes widen in shock, but Severus, nowadays, doesn't care. I slide my arm around his waist and caress his pointy rib bones through his linen shirt.

"I'm not leaving you." I turn to Ginny and Ron. "Go, now. We'll pretend we never saw you. Severus - we'll put the memories in your pensieve."

Ron opens his mouth, but I hold up a hand to silence him.

"Don't make this any harder than it is, Ron."

"We won't be able to come back." Ginny says. "Are you certain?"

I nod. "I'm happy, Ginny."

She looks sad, but resigned. Ron shakes his head and gives me one last pitying look before crawling out the window. He'll probably always think me an abused woman. Ginny knows. Despite her anger, she was once in love with Draco. Draco once loved her, too.

She offers Severus a bitter smile and takes one last look at Anna.

"I would've liked to know her." She smiles sadly. "Good-bye, Hermione. Snape."

"Good-bye, Ginny," I whisper.

"Good-bye, Miss Weasley." As an afterthought, he adds. "Good luck."

She looks startled, but her brother shuts the window before she can speak. They drop down, and are gone. Severus watches me as I lift my wand and reset wards around the window. The chance to rekindle my former life has passed.

"Who's that?" Anna asks.

Severus speaks when I don't answer. "Nobody you need to worry about, Anna. Now is time for gifts."

She dives in with innocent enthusiasm.

I'm sad, but not sad that I stayed. I sit on the couch, distracted, trying to pay attention to Anna as she tears shimmery paper and ribbons off boxes. I know what's inside, of course - Muggle candy, a CD player for her room, and a dozen books. She'll be excited. Severus settles next to me to watch her crawling about under the tree.

"Look, Mummy, a cat!"

She holds up a stuffed toy that makes a purring noise when she squeezes it. Severus's contribution, not mine. It's black, like my familiar. Severus has a knack for finding Muggle things Anna will find appealing. He has access to the stores of confiscated goods.

I try to forget that Muggles and Muggleborns aren't allowed electronics anymore. Even the cat - with its mechanical meow - is forbidden. But not to my daughter, who, despite her heritage, is the single exception, and lives a life of oblivious luxury. I wonder if this is how Marie Antoinette felt.

I notice her playing with some raffia and my inner monologue vanishes.

"Oh, Severus, take the ribbon. She might choke."

He manages to tug the length from Anna's tight grip without a tantrum or tears. She sits under the tree in her pink pants and shirt, grinning and squeezing her new possessions against her chest.

"Make cat a sweater with your wand," she orders. "Pink!"

"Later, Anna," Severus mumbles. "Your mother's tired."

Hmm, he didn't seem that worried last night, when _I _was the one repeatedly awakened with questions like _When's Father Christmas coming? Does he mind that he has to come in December too? Why doesn't Father Christmas come twice for anyone else? Are the Christmas-elves like Loki? Would Father Christmas be very angry if er... someone made a mistake and ate his biscuits?_

Severus thought it quite amusing at the time. _I_ didn't, especially when he muttered some excuse about maternal sweetness being the childhood panacea. Bollocks, and I didn't hesitate to tell him so after Julia fell asleep.

"I'm sleepy." Anna makes a discontented mewling noise.

"It's time for your nap. You didn't sleep last night." I yawn. "I didn't sleep much, either."

"But the turkey and pie..." Anna protests, pawing at her eyes.

"Aren't for another six hours. Time for a nap, daughter," Severus says. "Hermione, I shall take her to her room."

I nod sleepily and stretch over the wide chaise. I'll only rest a minute.

---

I smile at the battered old Sorting Hat. The air smells of cloves, caramel and roast chicken. The Great Hall. At his usual place sits Severus, looking older, hair streaked ashen-gray, and with grotesque scars marring the left side of his face. Flitwick. Sinistra. Hagrid. Sprout. All older, all sitting at the High Table.

A new tapestry hangs from the wall. It shows a boy with glasses fighting Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Gold thread at the bottom proclaims _The Great Victory - 1998._

I'm off to the side, a spectator. I look to the Gryffindor table, hoping to spot Ginny, Harry or Ron, so I can ask what's going on, but I recognize nobody. A young boy looks startlingly like Lavender Brown at the Hufflepuff table; another at the Slytherin table reminds me of Millie Bulstrode; one girl at the Gryffindor tables has Weasley-red hair.

"Melanie Granger-Weasley," Professor McGonagall announces sharply.

I've always liked the name Melanie - a holdover, maybe, of my secret Spice Girls appreciation, a wholly Muggle name, out of place in the Magical world.

A girl with a swath of bushy hair, buck teeth and blue eyes - the eponymous Melanie - stands awkwardly at the front of the room. The hat barely touches her head before it shouts out her new house.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

She beams and flounces off the stage, but I don't look at her. My eyes are drawn to Severus, old, haggard looking, sitting at the High Table. He stares wistfully at _Melanie, _then tears his eyes away and slumps forward, staring into his soup with a beaten expression. I move forward, step around the student tables, so I can give him a hug. He looks so hopeless.

When I reach out, my hand slips through his body. I gasp and step back in horror. He doesn't notice me. The other professors discuss the new school year around him, actively avoiding him. He's a pariah. He has no wedding ring. His skin is sallow. It looks like he hasn't bathed in days. He picks at his food instead of eating.

It's suddenly quiet. I look over my shoulder to the student tables. They're now empty. I look back at the High Table. The professors, eating their soup and sipping their coffee, fade slowly, Severus the last to vanish. His lost expression nearly makes me cry.

Professor Dumbledore is the only one still there, staring at me from a few feet away in his brightly-coloured robes.

"Miss Granger. Hermione." He smiles sadly. "Or shall I call you Madam Snape now that you're all grown up and with a child?"

"That's not my child." I tremble, desperate to know where Anna is. "Where's my daughter? Who's that girl?"

"Don't worry, my dear. Anna is sleeping safely in her bed, as you now know, surrounded by gifts and awaiting Muggle Christmas dinner."

"Then what's this?" I ask, looking around the Great Hall.

He sighs deeply.

"This is my mistake, Hermione. My plans for the future." He paces slowly until he's standing directly in front of Severus's place at the High Table. "Severus Snape. I found him unappealing - biased, cruel. I thought he deserved punishment. I had little sympathy for his situation."

"But... his past. He never had _anyone_."

"I know," he says. "I thought him the most expendable member of the Order. I did not hesitate to use him. I thought I had placed my pieces so carefully - you would survive, with Ronald and Harry. You would destroy Voldemort. Oh, I foresaw Severus's solitary future; I foresaw his mutilation at the hands of Lucius Malfoy. I thought it a just reward for his past misdeeds."

"_Just reward?" _I ask. "How could you be so cruel? Nobody deserves to be so alone."

"I am not proud to admit it, Hermione. I _am _human." He shakes his head. "He told me he loved you, but I scoffed at him. I thought it lust, a passing fancy that would fade with time. I thought he would use and discard you."

"He _hasn't!" _I scowl, furious at the old wizard. "He would never!"

"I know, Hermione. You managed to turn him into the man everyone else thought him incapable of being." He smiles. "Your daughter is charming."

I feel my cheeks suffuse with heat. I'm terribly proud of Anna. Demanding at times, perhaps. Manipulative when she wants something. Foul-tempered when she's angry, but kind, and generous, curious and precocious. Quiet and disinclined to outright declare what she wants, but noisy when she witnesses anything she deems unjust. A perfect combination, I think, but I must admit that I'm biased.

"I came here to apologize. I am the reason this entire... situation... happened. Your confinement. Severus's guilt. I will forever regret what I caused. I want you to know that you should feel no guilt."

"_I _don't regret Severus," I reply archly. "_I _don't regret anything."

"You feel guilty over the Muggle laws. So does Severus, though he wrote them so he could pacify the Dark Lord." Dumbledore reaches out to touch my chin. "He has done so much to keep you safe, my dear. He must love you desperately."

I blush.

He nods. "I want you to give him a message, as well - that I forgive him. Tell him there's no reason for guilt. Tell Severus that I beg his forgiveness, and that I care for him, even if I may not be alive to tell him so."

I feel my eyes grow wet, and I open my mouth to speak, but Dumbledore is fading away. He points to the tapestry on the wall as he goes.

"Remember that the date will change, but prophecy dictates that it must happen. I hope you haven't made the wrong choice." He nods with finality as he vanishes. "Good-bye, Madam Snape."

And then, I'm all alone in the Great Hall.

---

I wake suddenly, panicked, confused about where I am. It's nighttime, and it takes me a moment to make out the silver Christmas tree, the cat curled up in a nest of discarded wrapping paper next to a sleeping Loki, and Maria Callas's mournful soprano from the CD player. The fireplace is dark, and the room's cold. I'm shaking.

"You were having a nightmare," Severus whispers.

He settles next to me, pulls me into his lap, and wraps a blanket around my shoulders. I sniffle and press my face into his shoulder.

"I had a dream."

"I had figured that, Hermione." He snorts.

I hiccup and feel tears prickling my eyes. He's instantly regretful of his flippancy, and squeezes me tightly.

"Forgive me," he says simply. "Continue."

"I thought it was a memory at first, but it was just a nightmare."

"Tell me about it, Hermione. The Weasleys' visit must have... made you think."

I nibble at a biscuit and sip some cold cocoa. As I chew, he points his wand into the corner and sets a fire crackling in the hearth. I ignore his implication, that the arrival of Ron and Ginny would _make me think_, knowing that he omitted saying _make me think about leaving, _as I know he truly believes.

"I was at Hogwarts. I had a dream that I was at a Sorting Ceremony, and that my child was going up to the Sorting Hat..."

"Anna?"

"No." I sigh. "A daughter with Ron Weasley."

His lip curls.

"I was horrified," I say. "And you looked so sad when you saw her. It was heartbreaking. You looked so alone, Severus, sitting at the High Table."

"I told you, Hermione, that I had no friends." He holds me tightly, burying his face in my hair. "Not until you made an effort with me."

"Everyone vanished, and it was just me and Dumbledore. He told me that it was his fault that I became your prisoner, that the Dark Lord came to power... because he didn't believe that you truly loved me, that you were just lusting after me."

He shifts uncomfortably.

"Severus?"

"I told him," he begins awkwardly. "I told him that I wished to pursue you. That if you were old enough to belong to the Order, then you were old enough to decide who deserved your affections, teacher or no. Not that I had any idea how I would go about it, considering your youth and beauty..."

I blush - how can he still elicit such reactions from me, even after we've known each other so long?

"He told me not to mar your future with my selfish desires, and that lust passes. He told me that Weasley truly cared for you, and that if I truly cared for you, I would push you in his direction, so my _dark_ _inclinations_ would not spread to you."

I let my eyes shut. My poor professor. Not even Dumbledore truly trusted him.

I keep describing my dream.

"Then... then he told me that he forgave you, and he begged for your forgiveness. He said you must be devoted to me, and said Anna was charming." I smile. "Then he pointed to a tapestry of Harry killing the Dark Lord and said that the prophecy had to be fulfilled. That's when you woke me up."

Severus rubs his day-old beard stubble and nods thoughtfully, not unlike Dumbledore himself.

"Do you think he was trying to give us a message? Do you think we're going to be killed in the final battle, or maybe that..."

"Hermione, it was just a dream. Albus is dead," he interrupts. "Even if it _were_ more, he was powerful, but not omniscient. He was only human, as he often liked to remind me..."

I shift in his lap. Before, I had dreams that the Malfoys would get their just rewards, that we'd all be reunited in the Order to vanquish the Dark Lord in one glorious battle. It's been a long time since I entertained those fantasies.

"Who knows with whom we shall side with when the final battle inevitably comes?" He kisses my ear. "We have not shown ourselves hostile to the Order. I am now just a potions-maker who has tenuous ties with the Dark Lord. I'm a rather dull wizard, far from the centre of power, who wishes nothing more than to raise his family in peace. We might not have anything to do with the battle at all."

I smile at that. He crosses the room to fetch himself a glass of wine from the sideboard.

"Care for a drop?"

"No, thank you."

He looks puzzled, and looks downward to pour himself a glass.

He furrows his brow when he notices Ron's abandoned chocolate frog packet. The card is still inside. He slides it out and examines it, then crosses the room to hand it over to me.

"Look."

It's an empty chocolate frog card. No portrait, just an empty frame. The label on the bottom is printed in gold and violet ink. _Albus Dumbledore. _

"A strange coincidence?"

I shiver and, after considering it, throw the card into the fireplace. It fizzles and curls and finally crumbles into a pile of ash. I don't need anyone spying on me, on my dreams, on Anna and Severus and I. We are content as we are, without interference.

"Hermione! I could have checked the card for tracking spells, perhaps located some dream charms laced into the cardboard, and now you have destroyed it..."

"And destroyed the magic attached to it as well," I reply, knowing exactly how to distract him. "I told you I had a lovely Christmas surprise for you - no, besides me showing up dressed in that red and white teddy. That's tradition, not a present..."

"Mmm, I shall always treasure that particular piece of lingerie. The first time you sauntered into my bedroom, declaring your intentions in that blatant manner befitting only a true Gryffindor..."

He curls himself around me, sliding one hand up my spine, the other ensconced in my hair, and began pressing delicate kisses up my neck. He's only recently become comfortable enough to be like this, to make his intentions known, and not simply wait until I'm in the mood and proposition _him. _

I gently push him back with a giggle. "You're distracting me! I'm trying to tell you something important."

"Ah, yes, my gift."

I extricate his hand from where it's wandered to my breast, and slide it down, down, until it rests on my stomach. His face transmutes from lusty to confused and finally to that smug, pleased expression he got when I told him about my first pregnancy.

"One month along," I whisper in his ear.

He kisses me, hard, then sighs in my ear.

"I would like to say that, had I the chance to change the past, that I would do so, but I would not."

I stare at him, knowing it best to let him confess.

"I would certainly have been more attentive to you in the first months. I would certainly have tried to be kinder, and given you more of my time, more freedom, more gifts. But I would still have brought you here. I would still have allowed Hogwarts to fall. I still would have murdered Albus." He pauses. "You must think me horribly selfish."

I reach for his hand. "No. Horribly inept with the people you love. Woefully insecure."

He looks guiltily to the floor. Though it's rare nowadays, he still occasionally lapses into these fits of guilty melancholy, where he's inclined to drink and apologize profusely and lock himself away, insisting that_ it's better for everyone that way_.

I hate it when he's like that. My dream, and Ron's appearance, and all these reminders of the past have left him unsettled. He needs a distraction.

"Come along, love. Let's wake the baby, have a little turkey and cranberry and lovely pie and - mmm - shortbread and gingerbread..."

He snorts. "You certainly _sound _pregnant."

"Just for that, you're giving Anna her bath tonight." I give his hand one last affectionate squeeze before dropping it. "Go, go on and wake her. After she's had her dinner, bath and bedtime story, I'll allow you to unwrap me."

He looks upon me affectionately.

"My Mistress, I shall comply with your command, as always." His voice drops, and he grows serious. "For you must know by now that it is I that is the prisoner, and am quite happy in my cage."

I open my mouth to speak, but he presses his finger to my lips before hurrying away to bring Anna to Christmas dinner.

Feeling warm and contented, I check the wards once more, bank down the fire, and scurry out the door, my footsteps echoing down the corridor as I run to catch up with Severus.

---

AN: I apologize for the lateness - I've had this for two weeks but the flu kept me down. If you feel inclined, leave me a review. I always go back and re-read the reviews on my old, finished works. Thank you to everyone who's offered advice along the way.


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